The Women Tell Me Every Day Poem by Anacreon

The Women Tell Me Every Day



The women tell me every day
That all my bloom has past away.
'Behold,' the pretty wantons cry,
'Behold this mirror with a sigh;
The locks upon thy brow are few,
And, like the rest, they're withering too!'
Whether decline has thinn'd my hair,
I'm sure I neither know nor care;
But this I know, and this I feel,
As onward to the tomb I steal,
That still as death approaches nearer,
The joys of life are sweeter, dearer;
And had I but an hour to live,
That little hour to bliss I'd give!

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
ROLAN BERNABE 27 September 2020

Good day! ! ! Can I have a sample of poster to illustrate about the " The Women Tell Me Every Day" ?

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jeannie 24 April 2018

arent these delightful poems!

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