Iii. Antinous Crowned As Bacchus

(In the British Museum)

Who crowned thy forehead with the ivy wreath And clustered berries burdening the hair? Who gave thee godhood, and dim rites? Beware O beautiful, who breathest mortal breath, Thou delicate flame great gloom environeth! The gods are free, and drink a stainless air, And lightly on calm shoulders they upbear A weight of joy eternal, nor can Death Cast o’er their sleep the shadow of her shrine. O thou confessed too mortal by the o’er-fraught Crowned forehead, must thy drooped eyes ever see The glut of pleasure, those pale lips of thine Still suck a bitter-sweet satiety, Thy soul descend through cloudy realms of thought?