Poem by 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 number’d 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, I’ll 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 I’ll find before I cease.
Have I told you all my flames,
’Mong the amorous Syrian dames?
Have I number’d every one,
Glowing under Egypt’s 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 India’s shore;
These, and many far removed,
All are loving — all are loved!

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 16
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 75
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 27
4. Bright Be Thy Dreams
5. From “Irish Melodies”. 123. From This Hour the Pledge Is Given

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