English poetry

Poets Х Biographies Х Poem Themes Х Random Poem Х
The Rating of Poets Х The Rating of Poems

Poem by Henry Livingston


The IX Ode to Horace


HORACE.

While I was pleasing to your arms,
Nor any youth, of happier charms,
Thy snowy bosom blissful prest,
Not Portia's like me was blest.


LYDIA.

While for no other fair you burn'd,
Nor Lydia was for Chloe scorn'd
What maid was then so blest as thine?
Not [xx's] flame could equal mine.


HORACE.

Me Chloe now possesses whole,
Her voice her lyre command my soul;
For whom Ill gladly die, to save
Her dearer beauties from the grave.


LYDIA.

My heart young Calats inspires,
Whose bosom glows with mutal fires,
For whom I twice would die with joy,
If death would spare the charming boy.


HORACE.

Yet what if love, whole bards we broke,
Again should tame us to the yoke;
Should I shake off bright Chloe's chain,
And take my Lydia home again?--


LYDIA.

Though he exceed in beauty far
The rising lustre of a star;
Though light as cork thy fancy strays,
Thy passions wild as angry seas,
When vex'd with storms; yet gladly I
With thee would live, with thee would die.



Henry Livingston


Henry Livingston's other poems:
  1. Acknowledgement
  2. Dialogue
  3. On My Sister JoannaТs Entrance into Her 33rd Year
  4. The Procession
  5. An Elegy on the Death of Montgomery Tappen


Poem to print Print

919 Views



Last Poems


To Russian version


–ейтинг@Mail.ru

English Poetry. E-mail eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru