Living
Book XI, 25
Translated by W. R. Paton (1916–18) · From The Greek Anthology (Loeb, vol. IV, 1918)
Thou art asleep, my friend, but the cup itself is calling to thee: ‘“ Awake, and entertain not thyself with this meditation on death.” Spare not, Diodorus, but slipping greedily into wine, drink it unmixed until thy knees give way. The time shall come when we: shall not drink—a long, leng time; but come, haste thee; the age of wisdom is beginning to tint our temples.
This translation is printed as prose in its source edition.
Cite this poem
MLA
Apollonides. “Book XI, 25.” Translated by W. R. Paton. Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/apollonides/26/.
Chicago
Apollonides. “Book XI, 25.” Translated by W. R. Paton. Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/apollonides/26/.
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