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Armed with hyacinthine rod,
(Arms enough for such a god,)
Cupid bade me wing my pace,
And try with him the rapid race.
O'er many a torrent, wild and deep,
By tangled brake and pendent steep.
With weary foot I panting flew,
Till my brow dropt with chilly dew.
And now my soul, exhausted, dying,
To my lip was faintly flying;
And now I thought the spark had fled,
When Cupid hovered o'er my head,
And fanning light his breezy pinion,
Rescued my soul from death's dominion;[2]
Then said, in accents half-reproving.
"Why hast thou been a foe to loving?"
Odes Of Anacreon - Ode Xxxi
Thomas Moore
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Poem topics: death, god, light, wing, head, wild, deep, thought, spark, steep, soul, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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