Anacreontic [Friend Of My Soul, This Goblet Sip]

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Title:     Anacreontic [Friend Of My Soul, This Goblet Sip]
Author: Thomas Moore [More Titles by Moore]

Friend of my soul, this goblet sip,
'Twill chase that pensive tear;
'Tis not so sweet as woman's lip,
But, oh! 'tis more sincere.

Like her delusive beam,
'Twill steal away thy mind:
But, truer than love's dream,
It leaves no sting behind.

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade;
These flowers were culled at noon;--
Like woman's love the rose will fade,
But, ah! not half so soon.
For though the flower's decayed,
Its fragrance is not o'er;
But once when love's betrayed,
Its sweet life blooms no more.

[The end]
Thomas Moore's poem: Anacreontic [friend Of My Soul, This Goblet Sip]

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