Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LXVII.

A poem by Thomas Moore

Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn
The wealth of Amalthea's horn;
Nor should I ask to call the throne
Of the Tartessian prince my own;[1]
To totter through his train of years,
The victim of declining fears.
One little hour of joy to me
Is worth a dull eternity!

Reader Comments

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

comments powered by Disqus

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