 | Poems |  |
14
FROM ANACREON.
“Anacreon, you are growing old;”Thus by the women I am told:
“Take your glass, and there survey
Falling locks and temples gray:”—
But I neither know, nor care,
How my locks and temples are:
This I know, if old I be,
Mirth and Love will quickly flee;
And, if Death will soon be here,
I should seize the pleasure near.
| Poems | |