Classic Poem

Though by the Tiber you recline,
Drinking the best of Lesbian wine
From Mentor's hand-chased silver glasses,
And watch each barge and boat that passes;
And gaze at trees as vast and green
As Caucasus has ever seen —
Yet all your wealth is not above
The height of mine incessant love.

For if with me my Cynthia stay
The night, or love the day away,
Pactolus waves beneath me roar,
And mine are pearls from India's shore.
No king — may it be so till I die! —
Was ever richer than am I.
For what avails the wealth of Ind
If Love be froward and unkind?

No riches mine if Venus frown,
For she can lay the mightiest down.
She makes her entrance, Tullus, where
Arabian luxuries spread the snare;
And though your couch be Tyrian-dyed,
Yet may you toss from side to side;
And though your wear be silk and bright;
She keeps you wakeful through the night.

I scorn the rich Alcinous;
For kings I care no tinker's cuss.
As long as — as I said above —
I'm strong with Venus, Queen of Love.