Poem by Thomas Moore

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 75

Spirit of Love, whose locks unrolled,
Stream on the breeze like floating gold;
Come, within a fragrant cloud
Blushing with light, thy votary shroud;
And, on those wings that sparkling play,
Waft, oh, waft me hence away!
Love! my soul is full of thee,
Alive to all thy luxury.
But she, the nymph for whom I glow,
The lovely Lesbian mocks my woe;
Smiles at the chill and hoary hues,
That time upon my forehead strews.
Alas! I fear she keeps her charms,
In store for younger, happier arms!

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 48
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 19
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 3
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 57. Oh! Had We Some Bright Little Isle of Our Own
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 50

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