Poem by Thomas Moore

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 30

’Twas in a mocking dream of night —
I fancied I had wings as light
As a young bird’s, and flew as fleet;
While Love, around whose beauteous feet,
I knew not why, hung chains of lead,
Pursued me, as I trembling fled;
And, strange to say, as swift as thought,
Spite of my pinions, I was caught!
What does the wanton Fancy mean
By such a strange illusive scene?
I fear she whispers to my breast,
That you, sweet maid, have stolen its rest;
That though my fancy, for a while,
Hath hung on many a woman’s smile,
I soon dissolved each passing vow,
And ne’er was caught by love till now!

1. From “Irish Melodies”. 41. Lesbia Hath a Beaming Eye
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 32
3. From “Irish Melodies”. 47. What the Bee Is to the Floweret
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 120. Oh, Could We Do with This World of Ours
5. From “Irish Melodies”. 48. Love and the Novice

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