Classic Poem

I know your vows were false. Your hair, still moist with new perfume, betrays your wantonness; your eyes, weighed down with sleep, betray you, and the thread of the garland clasping your hair. Your tangled ringlets have been twisted by a lover—you reel with wine.
Begone, wanton! The lyre of wild feasts calls you and the rattle of shaken castanets!