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...A BIRD'S ANGER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES EMERSON by MARY ELIZABETH MAPES DODGE LALLA ROOKH: PARADISE AND THE PERI by THOMAS MOORE SONGS OF TRAVEL: 45. TO S.R. CROCKETT by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON AT PORT ROYAL by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER MOST ANY BIT OF LANDSCAPE by JEAN CAMERON AGNEW |