The Wine-Cup
Hephaestus, graver-of-silver, make for me no panoply of war — what have I to do with battle? — but carve out for me a hollow wine-cup.
And fashion upon it for me no stars, neither the Waggon nor gloomy Orion. What are the Pleiades to me, what lovely Bootes?
But carve vines upon it for me and grape-clusters and the Maenads plucking them; grave upon it a wine-press and those that tread out the grapes, and laughing Pans, the golden Loves, the smiling Cytherean, and with fair Lyaeus, Eros and Aphrodite.
And fashion upon it for me no stars, neither the Waggon nor gloomy Orion. What are the Pleiades to me, what lovely Bootes?
But carve vines upon it for me and grape-clusters and the Maenads plucking them; grave upon it a wine-press and those that tread out the grapes, and laughing Pans, the golden Loves, the smiling Cytherean, and with fair Lyaeus, Eros and Aphrodite.
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