Touch of all meat where Life hath been

O glad, glad on the Mountains
To swoon in the race outworn,
When the holy fawn-skin clings
And all else sweeps away,

To the joy of the quick red fountains,
The blood of the hill-goat torn,
The glory of wild-beast ravenings
Where the hill-top catches the day,

To the Phrygian, Lydian mountains
‘Tis Bromios leads the way.

— Euripides, Bacchae
via Bertrand Russell,
A History of Western Philosophy

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