Classic Poem

What far-hurled cry is this — what winged shout
That drives the winter of my spirit out
With trumpets and the cymballed joy of spring?
No more am I the shivering beggared thing
That dreamed of summer in a bed of snow!
Hark yonder how the scarlet trumpets blow
A glad, delirious riot of sweet sound!

O I have found
At last the one I lost so long ago
In Thessaly, where Peneus waters flow!
For thou wert Lais, and of yore 'twas thus
That thou didst speak to me — Hippolochus!
And I have not forgot.

Still dreaming of the old impassioned spot,
I passed through many pangful births in Time,
Weaving in many tongues the aching rhyme
That groped about and cried for thee in vain!
Of many deaths I passed the gates of pain;
And down to many hells the bitter ways
I trod, still seeking for the ancient days.
Through many lands in many women's eyes
I longed to overtake thee with surprise.

O the long ages that I sought for thee!
Hast thou kept pure the ancient drink for me?
Who touched with careless lips my goblet's brim,
Daring to dream the vintage was for him?
Half jealous of those lips of dust am I!

O let us journey back to Thessaly,
And from these echoes build the olden song!
Hast thou forgotten, through these ages long,
The tinkle of the sheep-bells and the shrill
Glad oaten reeds of shepherds on the hill?
Our days of sultry passion and the nights
That flashed the dizzy lightning of delights?

At last I feel again thy finger-tips!
Be as a purple grape upon my lips,
Made sweet with dew of dreams, and wholly mine!
O let me drink the sweet forbidden wine
Crushed out with bruising kisses! Death is near,
And I shall lose thee once again, my dear!

The dust of ages chokes me! Quick! The wine!
Lift up the goblet of thy lips to mine!

The bony Terror! Hark his muffled drums! —
Let us be drunken when the Victor comes!