The United Amateur/May 1924/Bacchanale

by Samuel Loveman

The United Amateur

Official Organ of the United Amateur Press Association

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Bacchanale

By Samuel Loveman

To H. P. L.

 

A flagon is red for the vintage-guest,
The grapes are crush’d to the brim;
The young lord loosens his loric vest,
Violets bound to his brow and breast—
And the revel is all for him,
The revel is all for him.

There, when the orchards fire and smoulder,
Agave dances around;
Arm to white arm and shoulder to shoulder,
Naked Pentheus leaps to enfold her—
But the Maenads make no sound,
The Maenads make no sound.

In Mysia, a low wind shakes and sighs,
An oarsman calls to his crew;
There is a cry the dead man cries,
Once, eve the darkness fills his eyes—
With a knife that his mother drew,
A knife that his mother drew.

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