_Bacchus is gone_!
I saw him leave the shore
Upon a moonless time,
_And he is gone--is gone--_
Forevermore.
I saw the satyrs and the bacchanals--
_Bacchus is gone--is gone--_
With smoking torches as at funerals
Light him across the sea at dawn.
I saw the whimpering pards
Where he had passed--
_Bacchus is gone--is gone--_
Sniff to the water's edge,
Where purple stained, his footprints led--
I heard the Goat-foot whisper in the hedge,
"_Bacchus is dead--is dead,_"
And go aghast,
Snapping the myrtle branches as he fled.
_Bacchus is gone!_
And with him dancing Folly--
_Bacchus is dead--is dead--_
Oh, Melancholy!
No! No! He is not dead; he has but fled
To kindlier lands he knew in days before
Men snatched the purple roses from his head.
He does but wanton by some liberal shore--
Sun kissed--
And wreathed with vine leaves as of old,
With spotted beasts and maidens by his car,
And sound of timbrels like a story told
Of youth and love and blood and wine and war.