Classic Poem

In a dream I saw Anacreon, the poet of Teos, who called to me and I, hastening to him, kissed and greeted him.
He was an old man but beautiful; beautiful and one who loved to lie with girls; his mouth was wine-scented and as he stumbled, drunk, love held him by the hand.
He lifted a flower-crown from his head and gave it to me, and it smelled of Anacreon. Like a weak fool I bound it upon my forehead and from that time till this I have not ceased from love.