I sing now to Methe, joyful and unrestrained,
goddess who knows the worth of pleasure, the value
of forgetfulness. Yours is the flow of words,
the loosening of the tongue; yours is merriment
and good cheer, the heady sweetness of the wine,
the wild-hearted dance, the fire of ecstasy,
the rule of the heart, impulse obeyed,
stories that never end, tales only true
in the telling. Companion of Dionysos,
you travel with his retinue, you follow in his wake;
we know you in the brimming cup, the stumbling step,
an evening’s evanescent grace. I honor you, O Methe.