If thou wouldst drink, I will sing thee a song of Anacreon's while thy gaze idles through wine glowing in a cup of crystal. Thy spirit will awake; happiness will envelop thee. While thou drainest the cup, the song will rise and beat to the beating of thine own madness and thy joy.
Or perhaps thou wouldst rest where the fresh air of the night may touch thee. Thou wouldst know the stars above thee, the soft rustlings in the trees, perhaps the distant call of some bird. Thus, I would sing thee, gently, a song of Sappho's, deep with longing, blending with the shadows and the silence.
If these, even, are not all thou wishest, then I will sing thee other songs. Voluptuousness will overwhelm thee; thou wilt forget the purpled night; even the wine cup will fall unheeded to the ground.
