Poem by Thomas Moore

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 3

Listen to the Muse’s lyre,
Master of the pencil’s fire!
Sketch’d in painting’s bold display,
Many a city first portray;
Many a city, revelling free,
Full of loose festivity.
Picture then a rosy train,
Bacchants straying o’er the plain;
Piping, as they roam along,
Roundelay or shepherd-song.
Paint me next, if painting may
Such a theme as this portray,
All the earthly heaven of love
These delighted mortals prove.

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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