Classic Poem

Which is the maiden I love best?
Twenty now are buzzing round me;
Three in their milk-white arms have wound me,
Gently, — yet I feel no rest!
One hath showered her black locks o'er me,
Ten kneel on the ground before me,
Casting forth such beams of blue,
That I'm pierc'd — oh, through and through!
Bacchus! Gods! what can I do?
Which must I love best?

Tell me — (ah, more gently take me,
Sweet one, in thy warm white arms!)
Tell me, — which will ne'er forsake me
Thorough all life's ills and harms?
Is it she , whose blood's retreating
From that forehead crowned with pride?
Is it she , whose pulse is beating
Full against my unarmed side?
What do all these things betide?
Strong my doubts grow, — strong, — and stronger:
Quick! give answer to my call!
If ye pause a moment longer,
I shall love ye — All !