The Twenty-First Ode of Anacreon
Fill with Bacchus' blessings fraught,
Ye virgins, fill a mighty draught:
Long since dried up by heat, I faint,
I scarcely breathe, and feverish pant.
O! with these fresher flowers, renew
The fading garland, on my brow,
For oh! my forehead's raging heat
Has rifled all their graces sweet:
The rage of thirst I yet can quell,
The rage of heat I can repel,
But, love! thy heat which burns my soul,
What draughts can quench? what shades can cool?
Ye virgins, fill a mighty draught:
Long since dried up by heat, I faint,
I scarcely breathe, and feverish pant.
O! with these fresher flowers, renew
The fading garland, on my brow,
For oh! my forehead's raging heat
Has rifled all their graces sweet:
The rage of thirst I yet can quell,
The rage of heat I can repel,
But, love! thy heat which burns my soul,
What draughts can quench? what shades can cool?
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