The Crown of Bacchus

Tyrant, o thou Fear!

Crippling art thou, Raging Pharaoh.

Thy decree is swift

Thy knife of angst stings all breasts

And stops all hearts from beating.

 

This phantom in the street

Hooded like the Shadow

Moves from door to door.

Bacchus’ crown, o Pharaoh

Is upon thy head

To steal from the little yeomen

Their ale and odes.

Where is the song in the taverns?

Where is the joy and mirth?

O, Pharaoh, with Bacchus’ crown,

You in your attire had silk and cashmere raiment

But stole the cotton-wool from the merrymakers.

Could you not spare them the miserable existence?

Or, must you continue to thresh us into the wind?

 

 

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