Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LXXVII.
By Thomas Moore
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!
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"Would that I were a tuneful lyre,..."
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