Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XVIII.
By Thomas Moore
Now the star of day is high, Fly, my girls, in pity fly. Bring me wine in brimming urns Cool my lip, it burns, it burns! Sunned by the meridian fire, Panting, languid I expire, Give me all those humid flowers, Drop them o'er my brow in showers. Scarce a breathing chaplet now Lives upon my feverish brow; Every dewy rose I wear Sheds its tears, and withers there.[1] But to you, my burning heart, What can now relief impart? Can brimming bowl, or floweret's dew, Cool the flame that scorches you?
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"Now the star of day is high,..."
"Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XVIII." is a quintessential example of Thomas Moore's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...