In a dream I saw Anacreon, the poet of Teos, who called to me and I, hastening to him, kissed and greeted him.
He was an old man but beautiful; beautiful and one who loved to lie with girls; his mouth was wine-scented and as he stumbled, drunk, love held him by the hand.
He lifted a flower-crown from his head and gave it to me, and it smelled of Anacreon. Like a weak fool I bound it upon my forehead and from that time till this I have not ceased from love.

Atis through deserted groves
Cybele invoking roves:
And like madness them befell
Who were drunk at Phaebus Well:
But I willingly will prove
Both these Furies, Wine, and Love.

Winged young man, why do you hold a hunting spear and a boar-skin? Who are you, the symbol on this tomb?
You are not Love. Does Desire dwell among the dead? He has not yet learned how to weep.
Neither are you swift-footed Time, for he is very old and your body is young.
It seems to me that a poet lies beneath the earth here and that you, winged one, speak his name.
Not without reason you hold a two-edged spear — for grave and gay and perhaps for love verses. Yes, the symbols of the boar-hunter mean Meleager, the namesake of the son of oeneus.

In Priamum.

Had doting Priam checkt his sonnes desire,
Troy had beene bright with fame, and not with fire.

It is sweet to mix honey with wine and sweet to love beauty — if you are beautiful too — as Alexis loves soft-haired Cleobulus.
This is the immortal drink of honey and wine given by Aphrodite.

The threads of my life are bound to you, Myiscus, and in you is all the breath my soul retains.
By your eyes, your eyes which speak even to the blind, by your clear brow, if you turn to me a darkened eye it is winter for me, but if you look happy, dear spring itself flowers for me!

A goddess, queen of Desires, gives me to you, Theocles, and soft-sandalled Love brings me naked to you, a stranger in a strange land, governed by Love's unbreakable reins. If only I could make a real friendship with you!
But you reject me, neither does time alter you nor the tokens of friendship.
Be gracious, O king, be gracious! Fate has made you a god and you hold the threads of life and death for me.

Once more I leap
From the Leukadian cliff,
And drunk with passion
I plunge into the surging billow!

By Aphrodite, you have said what a god would not dare say in your rashness! " Theron is not beautiful! "
Theron is not beautiful! You only were bold enough to say that and not fear the lightning of Zeus!
Behold in me one who was garrulous like you, whom angry Nemesis shows as a living example of rash speech!

Suckling, whose numbers could invite
Alike to wonder, and delight,
And with new spirit did inspire
The Thespian Scene, and Delphick Lyre;
Is thus exprest in either part,
Above the humble reach of Art.
Drawn by the Pencil, here you finde
His Form, by his own Pen his Minde.