Overture

A poem by Walter Savage Landor

Who will away to Athens with me? who
Loves choral songs and maidens crown’d with flowers,
Unenvious? mount the pinnace; hoist the sail.
I promise ye, as many as are here,
Ye shall not, while ye tarry with me, taste
From unrins’d barrel the diluted wine
Of a low vineyard or a plant ill prun’d,
But such as anciently the Aegean isles
Pour’d in libation at their solemn feasts:
And the same goblets shall ye grasp, emboss’d
With no vile figures of loose languid boors,
But such as gods have liv’d with and have led.

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