Poem by Thomas Moore

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 45

Within this goblet, rich and deep,
I cradle all my woes to sleep.
Why should we breathe the sigh of fear,
Or pour the unavailing tear?
For death will never heed the sigh,
Nor soften at the tearful eye;
And eyes that sparkle, eyes that weep,
Must all alike be seal’d in sleep.
Then let us never vainly stray,
In search of thorns, from pleasure’s way;
But wisely quaff the rosy wave,
Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus gave;
And in the goblet, rich and deep,
Cradle our crying woes to sleep.

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

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