Drunken Muse Poem by Venantius Fortunatus

After many delicious dishes, among varied flavors,
I was drowsing and eating and drowsing again
(my mouth open, my eyes falling shut again,
just chewing away, then idly following a dream).
My wits were befuddled, believe me, friends,
and I could not easily put together my words.
My fingers were powerless, my pen unable to form verses --
a drunken Muse guided my unsteady hand.
To me, and the others here, all drinking good wine,
the table itself seemed to be afloat!
Now, however, as best I can, my mother and sister,
I am trying to write some little song to show my love.
While sleep wants to trap me in its many snares,
my affection writes these verses with a shaky hand.