Classic Poem

Come, sit awhile beneath this spreading arbor
Of lusty fig and intercreeping vine;
My heart no other guest save love shall harbor
While thou art mine —
Boy, bring wine.

No classic maid art thou — just modern Alice;
Yet fair enough to turn despair to joy.
Come now, charm from me, with your black eyes' malice,
The world and care's alloy —
That wine, boy.

Fair Lalage, however sweetly smiling,
Beamed not on Horace with such eyes as thine;
Dark Amaryllis ne'er was so beguiling,
Nor Hero so divine —
Drink, drink wine.

Ah! what is this? A fleeting cloud of sadness,
That love their hearts may never more annoy?
Be wise, then, girl, and seize life's transient madness
Ere hungry Time destroy —
More wine, boy.

Perhaps — who knows? — when we are dead, and scattered
Through earth and sea and heaven, far and fine,
Your name, like those of others wooed and flattered,
May live in some sweet line —
Ah, that wine!

But now's our turn for love and laughter, Alice;
Be coy, I pray you; but be not too coy.
The ages offer us their thrilling chalice —
'Twill shatter ere we cloy —
More wine, boy.

Dark blood peeps through your smooth skin's lily whiteness,
'Twixt ruddy lips your teeth gleam, all a-line;
Sunshine is woven in your brown hair's brightness.
Ah, which is hair? Which shine?
Drink more wine.

These things will fade, and what will follow after?
Alas, that Fate must use us for a toy!
But now's the time that wine and love and laughter
Should all our thoughts employ —
Bring wine, boy!