Lo! stranger, veiled in sunless gloom
Lies blithe Anacreon. If to thee my lyre
Has aught of pleasure given, I desire
That thou in passing by my simple tomb
Wilt pour upon mine ashes here
Libations of sheer wine I loved in life,
That glowing dreams may in my soul be rife,
And with the joys on earth I held so dear

My very bones may thrill, and so
I who when quick in Bacchus took delight
May find less sad the sombre cheerless night
Of Hades' realm, where all at last must go.