Poem by Thomas Moore

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 54

Methinks, the pictured bull we see
Is amorous Jove--it must be he!
How fondly blest he seems to bear
That fairest of Phoenician fair!
How proud he breasts the foamy tide,
And spurns the billowy surge aside!
Could any beast of vulgar vein,
Undaunted thus defy the main?
No: he descends from climes above,
He looks the God, he breathes of Jove!

1. To-Day, Dearest! Is Ours
2. Oft, When the Watching Stars Grow Pale
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 24
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 60
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 69

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