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Poem by Thomas Moore


From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 25


Once in each revolving year,
Gentle bird! we find thee here.
When Nature wears her summer-vest,
Thou comest to weave thy simple nest;
But when the chilling winter lowers,
Again thou seekst the genial bowers
Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile,
Where sunny hours for ever smile.
And thus thy pinion rests and roves, 
Alas! unlike the swarm of Loves
That brood within this hapless breast,
And never, never change their nest.
Still every year, and all the year,
They fix their fated dwelling here;
And some their infant plumage try,
And on the tender winglet fly;
While in the shell, impregnd with fires,
Still lurk a thousand more desires;
Some from their tiny prisons peeping,
And some in formless embryo sleeping.
Thus peopled, like the vernal groves,
My breast resounds with warbling Loves;
One urchin imps the others feather,
Then twin-desires they wing together,
And fast as they thus take their flight,
Still other urchins spring to light.
But is there then no kindly art,
To chase these Cupids from my heart;
Ah, no! I fear, in sadness fear,
They will for ever nestle here!



Thomas Moore


Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 59
  2. From Irish Melodies. 10. Rich and Rare Were the Gems She Wore
  3. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 15
  4. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 56
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 50


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