View source for Hymn to Dionysus

Timbrels and violins sport round the Wine-presses: the little seed;<br/>
The sportive root; the earth-worm; the gold beetle; the wise emmet<br/>
Dance â€™round the Wine-presses of Liber: the centipede is there;<br/>
The ground spider with many eyes; the mole clothed in velvet;<br/>
The ambitious spider in his sullen web; the lucky golden spinner;<br/>
The earwig, armed; the tender maggot, emblem of immortality;<br/>
The flea; louse; bug; the tape-worm; all the armies of disease,<br/>
Visible or invisible to the slothful vegetating man;<br/>
The slow slug; the grasshopper that sings and laughs and drinksâ€”<br/>
Winter comes, he folds his slender bones without a murmur;<br/>
The cruel scorpion is there; the gnat; wasp; hornet and the honey bee;<br/>
The toad and venomous newt; the serpent, clothed in gems and gold;<br/>
They throw off their gorgeous raiment; they rejoice with loud jubilee<br/>
Around the Wine-presses of Liber, naked and drunk with wine.<br/>

There is the nettle that stings with soft down; and there<br/>
The indignant thistle, whose bitterness is bred in his milk,<br/>
Who feeds on contempt of his neighbor; there all the idle weeds<br/>
That creep around the obscure places, show their various limbs,<br/>
Naked in all their beauty dancing â€™round the Wine-presses.<br/>

But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not, nor dance;<br/>
They howl and writhe in shoals of torment; in fierce flames consuming;<br/>
In chains of iron and in dungeons circled with ceaseless fires;<br/>
In pits and dens and shades of death; in shapes of torment and woe;<br/>
The plates and screws and wracks and saws and cords and fires and cisterns;<br/>
The cruel joys of Liberâ€™s daughters, lacerating with knives<br/>
And whips their victims, and the deadly sport of Liberâ€™s sons.<br/>