The merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrowed name:
Euphelia serves to grace my measure;
But Chloe is my real Flame.
My softest verse, my darling lyre
Upon Euphelia's toilet lay;
When Chloe noted her desire,
That I should sing, that I should play.
My lyre I tune, my voice I raise;
But with my numbers mix my sighs:
And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.
Fair Chloe blush'd: Euphelia frowned:
I sung and gazed: I played and trembled:
And Venus to the Loves around
Remarked, how ill we all dissembled.
An Ode
Matthew Prior
(1)
Poem topics: desire, voice, soul, raise, real, play, treasure, flame, verse, measure, secure, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about An Ode poem by Matthew Prior
Best Poems of Matthew Prior