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Poem by Thomas Moore


From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 49


When Bacchus, Joves immortal boy,
The rosy harbinger of joy,
Who, with the sunshine of the bowl
Thaws the winter of our howl 
When to my inmost core he glides,
And bathes it with his ruby tides,
A flow of joy, a lively heat,
Fires my brain, and wings my feet,
Calling up round me visions known
To lovers of the bowl alone.
            Sing, sing of love; let musics sound
In melting cadence float around,
While, my young Venus, thou and I
Responsive to its murmurs sigh.
Then waking from our blissful trance,
Again well sport, again well dance.



Thomas Moore


Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From Irish Melodies. 57. Oh! Had We Some Bright Little Isle of Our Own
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 15
  3. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 32
  4. From Irish Melodies. 113. Alone in Crowds to Wander On
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 34


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