Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LXXVIII.

A poem by Thomas Moore

When Cupid sees how thickly now,
The snows of Time fall o'er my brow,
Upon his wing of golden light.
He passes with an eaglet's flight,
And flitting onward seems to say,
"Fare thee well, thou'st had thy day!"

Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray,
That lights our life's meandering way,
That God, within this bosom stealing,
Hath wakened a strange, mingled feeling.
Which pleases, though so sadly teasing,
And teases, though so sweetly pleasing!

* * * * *

Let me resign this wretched breath
Since now remains to me
No other balm than kindly death,
To soothe my misery!

* * * * *

I know thou lovest a brimming measure,
And art a kindly, cordial host;
But let me fill and drink at pleasure--
Thus I enjoy the goblet most.

I fear that love disturbs my rest,
Yet feel not love's impassioned care;
I think there's madness in my breast
Yet cannot find that madness there!

* * * * *

From dread Leucadia's frowning steep,
I'll plunge into the whitening deep:
And there lie cold, to death resigned,
Since Love intoxicates my mind!

* * * * *

Mix me, child, a cup divine,
Crystal water, ruby wine;
Weave the frontlet, richly flushing
O'er my wintry temples blushing.
Mix the brimmer--Love and I
Shall no more the contest try.
Here--upon this holy bowl,
I surrender all my soul!

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