Anacreon with his Muse

Hyacinth garden

as it seemed, in those olden and shadowy times

when time would go to the Earth's end

where dusk’s purple drapery substitutes for landscape

and some crimson traces give a strange after glow of splendor

woven so profuse to demand men’s pleasure

even when gold dust reveals among the folds of darkness

as it is heart to heart and passions fed on more than mere bread;

the most vivid, a flame untranslatable words of sensuous charm

fragments of lovely verse fixed for ever on the lips

those graceful rhyme of Anacreon with his Muse

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