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 :::THE BASSARID

ANCE with the Maenad crowd; Follow your pulses' beat. Toss back your hair from your forehead proud; Crush in the madness of cymbals loud The hyacinths at your feet.

Deep in the dewy dawn, Where the serpent of passion hisses, Pan and Sylvan and Satyr and Faun, Let them whirl you on through the branches torn, And stain your mouth with kisses.

With parted lips and with eyes Brimming and drugged and bright, Cry aloud your wild Thessalian cries, Cry aloud your Phrygian ecstasies, In the hot perfumed night.

Let the wood-spurge cling to your waist, Let the woodbine tangle your hair, Let your breast by hazels be embraced And from oozing green-wood sap be a taste Of pungent ivy there.

With wild-flung arms and with limbs Shuddering and wounded lips, Cry aloud as your brain in frenzy swims, And loosed by the sweetness of Bacchic hymns, Your vine-wreathed girdle slips.