Thomas Moore

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 49

When Bacchus, Jove’s immortal boy,
The rosy harbinger of joy,
Who, with the sunshine of the bowl
Thaws the winter of our howl —
When to my inmost core he glides,
And bathes it with his ruby tides,
A flow of joy, a lively heat,
Fires my brain, and wings my feet,
Calling up round me visions known
To lovers of the bowl alone.
            Sing, sing of love; let music’s sound
In melting cadence float around,
While, my young Venus, thou and I
Responsive to its murmurs sigh.
Then waking from our blissful trance,
Again we’ll sport, again we’ll dance.