Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXIII.
By Thomas Moore
I often wish this languid lyre, This warbler of my soul's desire, Could raise the breath of song sublime, To men of fame, in former time. But when the soaring theme I try, Along the chords my numbers die, And whisper, with dissolving tone, "Our sighs are given to love alone!" Indignant at the feeble lay, I tore the panting chords away, Attuned them to a nobler swell, And struck again the breathing shell; In all the glow of epic fire, To Hercules I wake the lyre, But still its fainting sighs repeat, "The tale of love alone is sweet!" Then fare thee well, seductive dream, That madest me follow Glory's theme; For thou my lyre, and thou my heart, Shall never more in spirit part; And all that one has felt so well The other shall as sweetly tell!
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"I often wish this languid lyre,..."
"Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXIII." 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...