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Anacreon with his Muse
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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
