A BANQUETONE MEMORY FROM SOCRATESAfter the song the love, and after the love the play,Flute girl and pretty boy blowingBubbles of sparklingWine into darklingBeards of a former austerity, stern even now, but fast growingFoolish, with less of a statelyReserve that held them sedately.Oh Zeus, what a sight! With the wine dripping off it,The grin of an ass on a bald-pated prophet.After the feast the night, and after the night the day,Fool and philosopher stirringWith the day dawning,Stretching and yawning,While in each wine-throbbing, desolate brain is the wheeling and whirringOf thousands of bats, that the slakingOf throats will not hinder from aching,No wine for the brow that is beating to bursting,But water at morning is quench for the thirsting!ERNEST BENSHIMOL
After the song the love, and after the love the play,Flute girl and pretty boy blowingBubbles of sparklingWine into darklingBeards of a former austerity, stern even now, but fast growingFoolish, with less of a statelyReserve that held them sedately.Oh Zeus, what a sight! With the wine dripping off it,The grin of an ass on a bald-pated prophet.After the feast the night, and after the night the day,Fool and philosopher stirringWith the day dawning,Stretching and yawning,While in each wine-throbbing, desolate brain is the wheeling and whirringOf thousands of bats, that the slakingOf throats will not hinder from aching,No wine for the brow that is beating to bursting,But water at morning is quench for the thirsting!
ERNEST BENSHIMOL