Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 71

With twenty chords my lyre is hung,
And while I wake them all for thee,
Thou, O maiden, wild and young,
Disportest in airy levity.

The nursling fawn, that in some shade
Its antlered mother leaves behind,
Is not more wantonly afraid,
More timid of the rustling wind!

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 48
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 3
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 50
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 70
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 6

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