English poem
(Meleager.)
by Andrew Lang
POUR wine, and cry again, again, again! To Heliodore! And mingle the sweet word ye call in vain With that ye pour! And bring to me her wreath of yesterday That’s dank with myrrh; Hesternæ Rosæ, ah my friends, but they Remember her! Lo the kind roses, loved of lovers, weep As who repine, For if on any breast they see her sleep It is not mine!
THE PROPHET.