Thomas Moore ( )

From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 14

Count me, on the summer trees,
Every leaf that courts the breeze,
Count me, on the foamy deep,
Every wave that sinks to sleep;
Then, when you have numberd these
Billowy tides and leafy trees,
Count me all the flames I prove,
All the gentle nymphs I love.
First, of pure Athenian maids
Sporting in their olive shades,
You may reckon just a score,
Nay, Ill grant you fifteen more.
In the famed Corinthian grove,
Where such countless wantons rove,
Chains of beauties may be found,
Chains, by which my heart is bound;
There, indeed, are nymphs divine,
Dangerous to a soul like mine.
Many bloom in Lesbos isle;
Many in Iona smile;
Rhodes a pretty swarm can boast;
Carla too contains a host.
Sum them all  of brown and fair
You may count two thousand there.
What, you stare? I pray you, peace!
More Ill find before I cease.
Have I told you all my flames,
Mong the amorous Syrian dames?
Have I numberd every one,
Glowing under Egypts sun?
Or the nymphs, who blushing sweet
Deck the shrine of Love in Crete;
Where the God, with festal play,
Holds eternal holiday?
Still in clusters, still remain
Gades warm desiring train;
Still there lies a myriad more
On the sable Indias shore;
These, and many far removed,
All are loving  all are loved!

Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From Irish Melodies. 61. Id Mourn the Hopes
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 3
  3. From Irish Melodies. 10. Rich and Rare Were the Gems She Wore
  4. From Irish Melodies. 92. ODonohues Mistress
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 68

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