AT length thy golden hours have wing'd their flight, And drowsy death that eyelid steepeth; Thy harp, that whisper'd through each lingering night, Now mutely in oblivion sleepeth! She too, for whom that harp profusely shed The purest nectar of its numbers, She, the young spring of thy desires, has fled, And with her blest Anacreon slumbers! Farewell! thou hadst a pulse for every dart That Love could scatter from his quiver; And every woman found in thee a heart, Which thou, with all thy soul, didst give her! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW MRS. HARRIS'S PETITION: TO EXCELLENCIES THE LORDS JUSTICES OF IRELAND by JONATHAN SWIFT A JAPANESE FAN by MARGARET VELEY THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: TO SIR THOMAS MOUNSON, KNIGHT AND BARONET by THOMAS CAMPION LAST VERSES by THOMAS CHATTERTON THE PICTURE; SET BY MR. LAWES by CHARLES COTTON |