Poem by Thomas Moore

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 77

Would that I were a tuneful lyre,
Of burnished ivory fair,
Which, in the Dionysian choir,
Some blooming boy should bear!

Would that I were a golden vase.
That some bright nymph might hold
My spotless frame, with blushing grace,
Herself as pure as gold!

1. Oft, When the Watching Stars Grow Pale
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 24
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 68
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 72
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 26

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