Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 19

Here recline you, gentle maid,
Sweet is this embowering shade;
Sweet the young, the modest trees,
Ruffled by the kissing breeze;
Sweet the little founts that weep,
Lulling soft the mind to sleep;
Hark! they whisper as they roll,
Calm persuasion to the soul.
Tell me, tell me, is not this
All a stilly scene of bliss?
Who, my girl, would pass it by?
Surely neither you nor I.

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 54
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 46
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 75
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 113. Alone in Crowds to Wander On
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 34

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