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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

A Lover’s Sigh

By Anacreon (582–485 B.C.)

Translation of Thomas Moore

THE PHRYGIAN rock that braves the storm

Was once a weeping matron’s form;

And Procne, hapless, frantic maid,

Is now a swallow in the shade.

Oh that a mirror’s form were mine,

To sparkle with that smile divine;

And like my heart I then should be,

Reflecting thee, and only thee!

Or could I be the robe which holds

That graceful form within its folds;

Or, turned into a fountain, lave

Thy beauties in my circling wave;

Or, better still, the zone that lies

Warm to thy breast, and feels its sighs!

Or like those envious pearls that show

So faintly round that neck of snow!

Yes, I would be a happy gem,

Like them to hang, to fade like them.

What more would thy Anacreon be?

Oh, anything that touches thee,

Nay, sandals for those airy feet—

Thus to be pressed by thee were sweet!