Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 75

Spirit of Love, whose locks unrolled,
Stream on the breeze like floating gold;
Come, within a fragrant cloud
Blushing with light, thy votary shroud;
And, on those wings that sparkling play,
Waft, oh, waft me hence away!
Love! my soul is full of thee,
Alive to all thy luxury.
But she, the nymph for whom I glow,
The lovely Lesbian mocks my woe;
Smiles at the chill and hoary hues,
That time upon my forehead strews.
Alas! I fear she keeps her charms,
In store for younger, happier arms!

1. From “Irish Melodies”. 10. Rich and Rare Were the Gems She Wore
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 59
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 56
4. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 15

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