Odes Of Anacreon - Ode Lviii Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEFFGG HHIIJJBB KKBLMMNNOOPPQQRRCCSS TTUU| When Gold as fleet as zephyr's' pinion | A |
| Escapes like any faithless minion | A |
| And flies me as he flies me ever | B |
| Do I pursue him never never | B |
| No let the false deserter go | C |
| For who would court his direst foe | C |
| But when I feel my lightened mind | D |
| No more by grovelling gold confined | D |
| Then loose I all such clinging cares | E |
| And cast them to the vagrant airs | E |
| Then feel I too the Muse's spell | F |
| And wake to life the dulcet shell | F |
| Which roused once more to beauty sings | G |
| While love dissolves along the strings | G |
| - | |
| But scarcely has my heart been taught | H |
| How little Gold deserves a thought | H |
| When lo the slave returns once more | I |
| And with him wafts delicious store | I |
| Of racy wine whose genial art | J |
| In slumber seals the anxious heart | J |
| Again he tries my soul to sever | B |
| From love and song perhaps forever | B |
| - | |
| Away deceiver why pursuing | K |
| Ceaseless thus my heart's undoing | K |
| Sweet is the song of amorous fire | B |
| Sweet the sighs that thrill the lyre | L |
| Oh sweeter far than all the gold | M |
| Thy wings can waft thy mines can hold | M |
| Well do I know thy arts thy wiles | N |
| They withered Love's young wreath d smiles | N |
| And o'er his lyre such darkness shed | O |
| I thought its soul of song was fled | O |
| They dashed the wine cup that by him | P |
| Was filled with kisses to the brim | P |
| Go fly to haunts of sordid men | Q |
| But come not near the bard again | Q |
| Thy glitter in the Muse's shade | R |
| Scares from her bower the tuneful maid | R |
| And not for worlds would I forego | C |
| That moment of poetic glow | C |
| When my full soul in Fancy's stream | S |
| Pours o'er the lyre its swelling theme | S |
| Away away to worldlings hence | T |
| Who feel not this diviner sense | T |
| Give gold to those who love that pest | U |
| But leave the poet poor and blest | U |
Thomas Moore
(1)
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