AFTER the song the love, and after the love the play, Flute¹ girl and pretty boy blowing Bubbles of sparkling Wine into darkling Beards of a former austerity, stern even now, but Fast growing Foolish, with less of a stately Reserve that held them sedately². Oh Zeus, what a sight！ With the wine dripping off it, The grin of an ass³ on a bald-pated prophet.

    After the feast the night, and after the night the day, Fool and philosopher stirring With the day dawning, Stretching and yawning, While in each wine-throbbing, desolated⁴ brain is the Wheeling and whirring Of thousands of bats, that the slaking⁵ Of throats will not hinder from aching, No wine for the brow that is beating to bursting, But water at morning is quench⁶ for the thirsting！