"And now I shall sing of Bacchus,
and with you, Bacchus, the shoots of the forest,
the fruits of the olive so slow to grow.
Here, father Lenaeus,
here where all is filled with your bounty,
where by your grace the countryside flourishes
overflowing with autumnal vine leaves
and to the brim in vats the harvest ferments,
here come, father Lenaeus,
remove your sandals
and stain with me your bare legs
with the new must."
Created by d'Araprì