HERE sleeps Anacreon, in this ivied shade; Here mute in death the Teian swan is laid. Jold, cold the heart, which lived but to respire All the voluptuous frenzy of desire! And yet, O Bard! thou art not mute in death Still, still we catch thy lyre's delicious breath And still thy songs of soft Bathylla bloom, Green as the ivy round the mouldering tomb! Nor yet has death obscured thy fire of love, Still, still it lights thee through th' Elysian grove; And dreams are thine, that bless th' elect alone, And Venus calls thee even in death her own! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY MOTHER LEFT ME by KAREN SWENSON SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL; WRITTEN IN GERMANY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE AN EPITAPH UPON HUSBAND AND WIFE WHO DIED AND WERE BURIED by RICHARD CRASHAW OLD SUSAN by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE MONADNOC by RALPH WALDO EMERSON |