Buds of roses, virgin flowers, Culled from Cupid's balmy bowers, In the bowl of Bacchus steep, Till with crimson drops they weep. Twine the rose, the garland twine,...
When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy, The rosy harbinger of joy, Who, with the sunshine of the bowl, Thaws the winter of our soul-- When to my inmost core he glides, And bathes it with his ruby tides,...
Within this goblet, rich and deep, I cradle all my woes to sleep. Why should we breathe the sigh of fear, Or pour the unavailing tear? For death will never heed the sigh, Nor soften at the tearful eye;...
Behold, the young, the rosy Spring, Gives to the breeze her scented wing: While virgin Graces, warm with May; Fling roses o'er her dewy way. The murmuring billows of the deep...
'Tis true, my fading years decline, Yet can I quaff the brimming wine, As deep as any stripling fair, Whose cheeks the flush of morning wear; And if, amidst the wanton crew,...
When my thirsty soul I steep, Every sorrow's lulled to sleep. Talk of monarchs! I am then Richest, happiest, first of men; Careless o'er my cup I sing, Fancy makes me more than king;...
Tell me, why, my sweetest dove, Thus your humid pinions move, Shedding through the air in showers Essence of the balmiest flowers? Tell me whither, whence you rove,...
Thou, whose soft and rosy hues Mimic form and soul infuse, Best of painters, come portray The lovely maid that's far away. Far away, my soul! thou art,...
And now with all thy pencil's truth, Portray Bathyllus, lovely youth! Let his hair, in masses bright, Fall like floating rays of light; And there the raven's die confuse With the golden sunbeam's hues....
Now the star of day is high, Fly, my girls, in pity fly. Bring me wine in brimming urns Cool my lip, it burns, it burns! Sunned by the meridian fire, Panting, languid I expire,...
One day the Muses twined the hands Of infant Love with flowery bands; And to celestial Beauty gave The captive infant for her slave. His mother comes, with many a toy,...
Observe when mother earth is dry, She drinks the droppings of the sky; And then the dewy cordial gives To every thirsty plant that lives. The vapors, which at evening weep,...
The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm, Was once a weeping matron's form;[1] And Progne, hapless, frantic maid, Is now a swallow in the shade. Oh! that a mirror's form were mine,...
I often wish this languid lyre, This warbler of my soul's desire, Could raise the breath of song sublime, To men of fame, in former time. But when the soaring theme I try,...
To all that breathe the air of heaven, Some boon of strength has Nature given. In forming the majestic bull, She fenced with wreathed horns his skull; A hoof of strength she lent the steed,...
Yes--loving is a painful thrill, And not to love more painful still But oh, it is the worst of pain, To love and not be loved again! Affection now has fled from earth, Nor fire of genius, noble birth,...
Once in each revolving year, Gentle bird! we find thee here. When Nature wears her summer-vest, Thou comest to weave thy simple nest; But when the chilling winter lowers....
Thy harp may sing of Troy's alarms, Or tell the tale of Theban arms; With other wars my song shall burn, For other wounds my harp shall mourn. 'Twas not the crested warrior's dart,...
We read the flying courser's name Upon his side, in marks of flame; And, by their turbaned brows alone, The warriors of the East are known. But in the lover's glowing eyes, The inlet to his bosom lies;...
As, by his Lemnian forge's flame, The husband of the Paphian dame Moulded the glowing steel, to form Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm; And Venus, as he plied his art,...