Читать книгу Yale Classics - Ancient Greek Literature - Anacreon - Страница 182

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To mortal men Peace giveth these good things:

Wealth, and the flowers of honey-throated song;

The flame that springs

On craven altars from fat sheep and kine,

Slain to the gods in heaven; and, all day long,

Games for gold youths, and flutes, and wreaths, and circling wine.

Then in the steely shield swart spiders weave

Their web and dusky woof:

Rust to the pointed spear and sword doth cleave;

The brazen trump sounds no alarms;

Nor is sleep harried from our eyes aloof,

But with sweet rest my bosom warms:

The streets are thronged with lovely men and young,

And hymns in praise of boys like flames to heaven are flung.