Anacreon

(570 BC – 488 BC)

Anacreon Poems

1. Youthful Eld 9/19/2012
2. Youth And Age 9/19/2012
3. Wine The Healer 9/19/2012
4. Wine And Song 9/19/2012
5. Vulcan! Hear Your Glorious Task 9/19/2012
6. Upon Cupid 9/19/2012
7. Three Songs 11/27/2003
8. Thou, Whose Soft And Rosy Hues 9/19/2012
9. They Tell How Atys, Wild With Love 9/19/2012
10. The Women Tell Me Every Day 9/19/2012
11. The Vintage 9/19/2012
12. The Vain Advice 9/19/2012
13. The Swallow 9/19/2012
14. The Rose 9/19/2012
15. The Phrygian Rock, That Braves The Storm 9/19/2012
16. The Old Lover 9/19/2012
17. The Lute 9/19/2012
18. The Grasshopper 9/19/2012
19. The Dream 9/19/2012
20. The Bowl Of Song 9/19/2012
21. The Bee 9/19/2012
22. The Accompt 9/19/2012
23. Tell Me, Why, My Sweetest Dove 9/19/2012
24. Tell Me, Gentle Youth, I Pray Thee 9/19/2012
25. Tell Me How To Punish Thee 9/19/2012
26. Spring 9/19/2012
27. Runaway Gold 9/19/2012
28. Praise Of Bacchus 9/19/2012
29. One Day, The Muses Twin'D The Hands 9/19/2012
30. On Himself 9/19/2012
31. On A Basin Wherein Venus Was Engraved 9/19/2012
32. Observe When Mother Earth Is Dry 9/19/2012
33. Now The Star Of Day Is High 9/19/2012
34. Mirth 9/19/2012
35. Mingle, My Boy, A Little Draught For Me 9/19/2012
36. Love's Night Walk 9/19/2012
37. Love's Mark 9/19/2012
38. Love's Arrows 9/19/2012
39. Listen To The Muse's Lyre 9/19/2012
40. Instructions To A Painter 9/19/2012
Best Poem of Anacreon

The Phrygian Rock, That Braves The Storm

The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm,
Was once a weeping matron's form;
And Progne, 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 were I, love, the robe which flows
O'er every charm that secret glows,
In many a lucid fold to swim,
And cling and grow to every limb!
Oh! could I, as the streamlet's wave,
Thy warmly-mellowing beauties lave,
Or float as perfume on thine hair,
And breathe my soul in ...

Read the full of The Phrygian Rock, That Braves The Storm

The Bee

Love, a Bee that lurk'd among
Roses saw not, and was stung:
Who for his hurt finger crying,
Running sometimes, sometimes flying,
Doth to his fair mother hie,
And O help, cries he, I die;
A wing'd snake hath bitten me,
Call'd by countrymen a Bee:
At which Venus, if such smart

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