Poem by Thomas Moore

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 52

A WAY, away, ye men of rules,
What have I do with schools?
They 'd make me learn, they 'd make me think,
But would they make me love and drink?
Teach me this, and let me swim
My soul upon the goblet's brim;
Teach me this, and let me twine
Some fond, responsive heart to mine,
For, age begins to blanch my brow,
I've time for naught but pleasure now.

Fly, and cool my goblet's glow
At yonder fountain's gelid flow;
I'll quaff, my boy, and calmly sink
This soul to slumber as I drink.
Soon, too soon, my Jocund slave,
You 'll deck your master's grassy grave;
And there's an end — for ah, you know
They drink but little wine below!

1. From “Irish Melodies”. 47. What the Bee Is to the Floweret
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 32
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 16
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 3. Erin! The Tear and the Smile in Thine Eyes
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 74

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