To Sylvia: An Imitation of Anacreon
An Imitation of Anacreon.
Oft I string the Lydian Lyre,
Oft in noble Strains aspire
To sing the Glories of that Face,
Each secret Charm, each nameless Grace;
But still the disobedient Strings do move
In softest Notes, and murmur nought but Love.
Oft with witty quaint Conceit,
I vainly strive to celebrate
That, which no Colours can reveal
Which we only see, and only feel:
But still the disobedient Strings do move
In softest Notes, and murmur nought but Love.
Oft I string the Lydian Lyre,
Oft in noble Strains aspire
To sing the Glories of that Face,
Each secret Charm, each nameless Grace;
But still the disobedient Strings do move
In softest Notes, and murmur nought but Love.
Oft with witty quaint Conceit,
I vainly strive to celebrate
That, which no Colours can reveal
Which we only see, and only feel:
But still the disobedient Strings do move
In softest Notes, and murmur nought but Love.
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