Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LI.

A poem by Thomas Moore

Fly not thus my brow of snow,
Lovely wanton! fly not so.
Though the wane of age is mine,
Though youth's brilliant flush be thine,
Still I'm doomed to sigh for thee,
Blest, if thou couldst sigh for me!
See, in yonder flowery braid,
Culled for thee, my blushing maid,[1]
How the rose, of orient glow,
Mingles with the lily's snow;
Mark, how sweet their tints agree,
Just, my girl, like thee and me!

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LI.' by Thomas Moore

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy