Classic Poem

I

Anacreon LXII

Haste thee, boy, and hither bring
Water from a crystal spring!
Down my gullet it shall pour,
Where the red wine ran before.
Summon nymphs who're not too gay,
And at bean-bag we will play;
Bacchus, canned with all his crew,
Brings no more the nightly stew.
Nix, we've banished all that stuff —
I for one had had enough.
Let the Scythians get a skinful:
We have barred the booze as sinful.
Haste thee, shrimp, and hither bring
Flagons from the crystal spring!

II

Anacreon XXI

The old earth drinks when it is dry
The distillations of the sky,
And then exhales a dewy breath
That keeps the tenderest plant from death.
It rains, and all the streams that roll
Are drink for Neptune's flowing bowl,
At which the ever thirsty sun
Tipples as soon as day's begun.
Yon moon, that " nowhere doth abide, "
Is always out to get a tide.
To drink is nature's first great law,
So, boy, another flagon draw!
I'll pledge, by all the founts that flow,
The Universe in H2O!