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Poem by Thomas Moore


From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 61


YOUTH'S endearing charms are fled;
Hoary locks deform my head;
Bloomy graces, dalliance gay,
All the flowers of life decay.
Withering age begins to trace
Sad memorials o'er my face;
Time has shed its sweetest bloom,
All the future must be gloom.
This it is that sets me sighing;
Dreary is the thought of dying!
Lone and dismal is the road,
Down to Pluto's dark abode;
And, when once the journey 's o'er,
Ah! we can return no more!



Thomas Moore


Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From Irish Melodies. 85. Oh For the Swords of Former Time
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 24
  3. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 3
  4. From Irish Melodies. 103. The Mountain Spite
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 51


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