Classic Poem

Where crystal-clear Benacus' waters flow
Laughing a welcome on the rocky shore,
As once Catullus bade them long before, —
Where starry-eyed the purple asters grow,
In much-beloved, lovely Sirmio, —
These leaves were plucked: one of the olive hoar,
Athene's crown; and one that Maenads bore,
Of Bacchic ivy.
Never would you know,
O Roman, whose great memory fills this scene,
Her power austere who rules the temperate will
And stays the prophet-soul secure, serene.
Your choice the thyrsus, the fierce joy that scars;
And passion-torn your accents lure us still,
Or from the mire, or heard among the stars.