<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472574" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lyre Of Anacreon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE minstrel of the classic lay<br>Of love and wine who sings<br>Still found the fingers run astray<br>That touched the rebel strings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of Cadmus he would fain have sung,<br>Of Atreus and his line;<br>But all the jocund echoes rung<br>With songs of love and wine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, brothers! I would fain have caught<br>Some fresher fancy's gleam;<br>My truant accents find, unsought,<br>The old familiar theme.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Love, Love! but not the sportive child<br>With shaft and twanging bow,<br>Whose random arrows drove us wild<br>Some threescore years ago;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not Eros, with his joyous laugh,<br>The urchin blind and bare,<br>But Love, with spectacles and staff,<br>And scanty, silvered hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our heads with frosted locks are white,<br>Our roofs are thatched with snow,<br>But red, in chilling winter's spite,<br>Our hearts and hearthstones glow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our old acquaintance, Time, drops in,<br>And while the running sands<br>Their golden thread unheeded spin,<br>He warms his frozen hands.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stay, winged hours, too swift, too sweet,<br>And waft this message o'er<br>To all we miss, from all we meet<br>On life's fast-crumbling shore:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Say that, to old affection true,<br>We hug the narrowing chain<br>That binds our hearts,--alas, how few<br>The links that yet remain!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fatal touch awaits them all<br>That turns the rocks to dust;<br>From year to year they break and fall,--<br>They break, but never rust.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Say if one note of happier strain<br>This worn-out harp afford,--<br>One throb that trembles, not in vain,--<br>Their memory lent its chord.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Say that when Fancy closed her wings<br>And Passion quenched his fire,<br>Love, Love, still echoed from the strings<br>As from Anacreon's lyre!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oliver+Wendell+Holmes">Oliver Wendell Holmes</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472574" data-title="The Lyre Of Anacreon de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="THE minstrel of the classic lay Of love and wine who sings Still found the fingers run astray That touched the rebel strings. Of Cadmus he would fain have sung, Of Atreus and his line; But all the jocund echoes rung With songs of love and wine. ..."></div> </div> </div>

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