1. O you who forsake a wine that dispels your sorrow,

    why not ward off poison with theriac,

  2. and let your right hand take up a fire, unafraid

    of any searing sting when touching it—

  3. a crimson wine whose pure essence you drink through the nostrils,

    so subtly—and through the ears and eyes as well—

  4. from a glass engraved with figures of mounted warriors,

    so that in the cupbearer’s palm you see a battle within it;

  5. as though its keen swords had spilled blood,

    which its figures donned, immersed up to their necks;

  6. as though the goblets had crimson under-robes,

    their buttons pearls upon their collars.

Sol 5.6