Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LXXI. With twenty chords my lyre is hung,
And while I wake them all for thee,
Thou, O maiden, wild and young,
Disportest in airy levity.

The nursling fawn, that in some shade
Its antlered mother leaves behind,
Is not more wantonly afraid,
More timid of the rustling wind!

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LXXI. by Thomas Moore