Classic Poem

On this verdant Lotus laid,
Underneath the Myrtles shade,
Let us drink our sorrows dead,
Whilst Love plaies the Ganimed.
Life like to a wheel runs round;
And ere long, we underground
(Tane by Death asunder) must
Moulder in forgotten dust.
Why then graves should we bedew?
Why the ground with odours strew?
Better whil'st alive, prepare
Flowers and unguents for our hair:
 Come my fair One, come away;
All our cares behinde us lay;
That these pleasures we may know,
Ere we come to those below.