Classic Poem

O shining crystal fountain deserving flowers and wine,
To-morrow shall a sacrifice—a tender kid—be thine;
A firstling kid whose horns, that start to sprout his brow above,
Are frankly symbolistic of the arts of war and love.

Alas! what futile emblems! for the goatling's vivid blood
Shall make thy fair limpidity a darkly crimson flood.
Thee blazing Sirius cannot touch in summer's fervid heat;
To cattle weary of the plough, and wandering flocks thou'rt sweet.

Yes, thou among the fountains shalt go flowing down to fame;
The song I sing shall glorify Bandusia's liquid name.
The oak that spreads its welcome shadows where thy waters spring
Shall bear thy glory's burden through the simple song I sing.