ODE LXXV.

Spirit of Love, whose locks unrolled,

Stream on the breeze like floating gold;

Come, within a fragrant cloud

Blushing with light, thy votary shroud;

And, on those wings that sparkling play,

Waft, oh, waft me hence away!

Love! my soul is full of thee,

Alive to all thy luxury.

But she, the nymph for whom I glow

The lovely Lesbian mocks my woe;

Smiles at the chill and hoary hues

That time upon my forehead strews.

Alas! I fear she keeps her charms,

In store for younger, happier arms!

The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Collected by Himself with Explanatory Notes · 第 91 / 1302 题