Classic Poem

When breezes kiss the lips of Spring,
And ships again at anchor ride,
The plowman leaves his hearth to sing
And wander through the countryside,
Where daisies glow
Like drifts of snow,
And fields below are white and wide.

At night the playful moonbeams dance
With Venus and her rosy train;
The kiss of flute and lyre enchants
The Nymphs upon each mossy plain,
Whose feet repeat
The rhythmic beat
And help complete the magic strain.

Come then, this is the joyous time,
The time beloved by god and man;
Awake, this is the glad year's prime;
Awake and, in the name of Pan,
Anoint with wine
The sacred shrine
Where wreaths entwine the gift we plan.

Live well to-day. Time will not wait,
Nor Death the slightest favor show
At hovel or the castle-gate.
And when thine hour striketh—lo,
The light shall pass …
No more the glass
Nor lad nor lass for thee shall glow.