Page:Ephemera, Greek prose poems (IA ephemeragreek00buckrich).pdf/32



—Plunge thy wreath into the wine, as I do. Now drink from the blossoms. It is delicious. Ho, there! My friend is thirsty. I am sure he is thirsty. Give him the Cretan wine; he likes it because it is red

—O lassitude! Thy lips are like a flower at my throat

—This roasted fowl, I swear, is daintier than a beautiful woman. Now I maintain that pleasures such as this

—Let her alone, thou ape; she is a Lesbian What is it to thee? Who threw that cup? O shame! It was a rare Etruscan glaze! How strangely the fragments gleam

—O lovely, glowing limbs! O skin like petals of the rose! More maddening than all wines the fair breath sobbing past thy crimsoned lips

—Gods! Gods! I weep. See, my sleeve is all wet with tears! I can drink no more  I can drink

—O Dionysos, strike the profaner dead!