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.