Thomas Moore ( )


From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 53


When I behold the festive train
Of dancing youth, I'm young again!
Memory wakes her magic trance,
And wings me lightly through the dance.
Come, Cybeba, smiling maid!
Cull the flower and twine the braid;
Bid the blush of summer's rose
Burn upon my forehead's snows;
And let me, while the wild and young
Trip the mazy dance along,
Fling my heap of years away,
And be as wild, as young, as they.
Hither haste, some cordial soul!
Help to my lips the brimming bowl;
And you shall see this hoary sage
Forget at once his locks and age.
He still can chant the festive hymn,
He still can kiss the goblet's brim;
As deeply quaff, as largely fill,
And play the fool right nobly still.



Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 70
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 3
  3. From Irish Melodies. 85. Oh For the Swords of Former Time
  4. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 64
  5. From Irish Melodies. 113. Alone in Crowds to Wander On


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