It's official - Alessandro Michele is a God! We thank you here at The Vampire's Wife.

We saw something truly humbling on Monday night. – The Gucci Cruise 2018 Show in Florence. Just the most beautiful of things made with so much love and generosity. Thank you, Alessandro.

Inside, the audience sat on stools, each embroidered with words from “A Song to Bacchus,” penned in the late 15th century by Lorenzo de Medici, the single most powerful individual in the Renaissance. “Nothing’s sure about tomorrow,” reads the poem. “There’s no defense from love.” They might as well be lines lifted straight from Alessandro Michele’s Gucci songbook. And his spectral boys and girls, with diadems circling their heads, or golden laurel wreaths clutched in their hands, personified the transience of beauty.

Tim Blanks – Business of Fashion

A SONG FOR BACCHUS BY LORENZO DE MEDICI

How beautiful our Youth is
That’s always flying by us!
Who’d be happy, let him be so:
Nothing’s sure about tomorrow.

Here are Bacchus, Ariadne,
Lovely, burning for each other:
Since deceiving time must flee,
They seek their delight together.
These nymphs, and other races,
Are full of happiness forever.
Who’d be happy, let him be so:
Nothing’s sure about tomorrow.

These delighted little satyrs
With their nymphs intoxicated,
Set a hundred snares now for them,
In the caves and in the bushes:
Warmed by Bacchus, all together
Dancing, leaping there forever,
Who’d be happy, let him be so:
Nothing’s sure about tomorrow.

All the nymphs are more than happy
To be tricked by their satyrs,
There’s no defence from loving
Except for coarse ungrateful people:
Now they’re mingling together,
Playing, singing there forever.
Who’d be happy, let him be so:
Nothing’s sure about tomorrow.

And that lump behind them, now
On the ass, is old Silenus:
Happy and inebriated,
Full of food and years already:
Though he can’t stand to attention,
He still laughs with joy forever.
Who’d be happy, let him be so:
Nothing’s sure about tomorrow.

Midas follows all the others:
Turns to gold the things he touches.
Where’s the joy in owning treasure,
If it doesn’t give you pleasure?
And where’s the sweet taste for a man
Who only feels his thirst forever?
Who’d be happy, let him be so:
Nothing’s sure about tomorrow.

Ope’ your ears wide, everyone:
Let none dine on their tomorrows:
Old and young ones, all at play,
Girls and boys, be glad today,
Banish every tearful sorrow,
Make each day a holiday.
Who’d be happy, let him be so:
Nothing’s sure about tomorrow.

Ladies and you youthful lovers,
Long live Bacchus: long live Love!
Everyone sing, dance and play!
Hearts, be all on fire with sweetness!
No faintness now or hint of sadness!
Whatever is to be must be:
Who’d be happy, let him be so:
Nothing’s sure about tomorrow.