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. День текущий -- день наш, дорогая! • To-Day, Dearest! Is Ours
2. Савойская ария • Oft, When the Watching Stars Grow Pale
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 32
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 38
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 65

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