Anacreon: The use of life
The fourth ode.
Here in the shadow of young myrtle,
here on soft Lotosblaetter
nestles, I want to drink.
Amor apron for your gown!
Amor, give me the cup!
because life flies from here,
hinrollt As the wheel.
When will disintegrate Diess bones
Are we a handful of ashes.
it help then the grave to anoint
and water them with Most of the dust?
ointment me because I'm still alive;
Kroener my brow with roses;
charging my girlfriend to me!
Amor, before I am down there
In the dance of the dead, shuffle
jest, "I with grief and indignation me.
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