/̶/̵M̵e̵tam̸o̸rp̵ho̶seo̵n̸ ̸S̷e̴r̶i̶es/̸/̷
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"Now Neptune's sullen month appears,
The angry night cloud swells with tears,
And savage storms infuriate driven,
Fly howling in the face of heaven!
Now, now, my friends, the gathering gloom
With roseate rays of wine illume:
And while our wreaths of parsley spread
Their fadeless foliage round our head,
We'll hymn th' almighty power of wine,
And shed libations on his shrine!"
Thomas Moore, Odes of Anacreon, Ode LXVIII, reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922)
