Classic Poem

Shrouded with ice and snow
Soracte stands in splendor.
The rivers freeze; the slender
Branches are weighted low.

Oh Thaliarchus mine,
Come, set the fagots flaming
And then, with rapt acclaiming,
Bring in the Sabine wine.

The rest leave to the gods
Who rule the warring thunders,
Whose hands shape Life's deep wonders
And Death's more puzzling odds.

We only live to-day;
Youth knows no dull to-morrow.
We who have buried Sorrow
May dance when we are gray.

Look,—now the maidens seek
Dim walks, and breathe soft whispers
To scented youths, and this spurs
The love that fears to speak.

Coy smiles and feigned alarms
The maiden, half-resisting,
Yields of a sudden, twisting
The token from her arms.

One hears a plaintive tune;
A snatch of distant laughter …
Vague murmurs pass, and after
Is silence—and the moon.