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Best Famous Anacreon Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Anacreon poems. This is a select list of the best famous Anacreon poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Anacreon poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Anacreon poems.

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by Lew Welch | |

Taxi Suite (excerpt: 1. After Anacreon)

 When I drive cab
I am moved by strange whistles and wear a hat

When I drive cab
I am the hunter.
My prey leaps out from where it hid, beguiling me with gestures When I drive cab all may command me, yet I am in command of all who do When I drive cab I am guided by voices descending from the naked air When I drive cab A revelation of movement comes to me.
They wake now.
Now they want to work or look around.
Now they want drunkenness and heavy food.
Now they contrive to love.
When I drive cab I bring the sailor home from the sea.
In the back of my car he fingers the pelt of his maiden When I drive cab I watch for stragglers in the urban order of things.
When I drive cab I end the only lit and waitful things in miles of darkened houses


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

ANACREONS GRAVE.

 HERE where the roses blossom, where vines round the laurels are 
twining,

Where the turtle-dove calls, where the blithe cricket is heard,
Say, whose grave can this be, with life by all the Immortals

Beauteously planted and deck'd?--Here doth Anacreon sleep
Spring and summer and autumn rejoiced the thrice-happy minstrel,

And from the winter this mound kindly hath screen'd him at last.
1789.
*


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

TO THE GRASSHOPPER.

 AFTER ANACREON.
[The strong resemblance of this fine poem to Cowley's Ode bearing the same name, and beginning "Happy insect! what can be," will be at once seen.
] HAPPY art thou, darling insect, Who, upon the trees' tall branches, By a modest draught inspired, Singing, like a monarch livest! Thou possessest as thy portion All that on the plains thou seest, All that by the hours is brought thee 'Mongst the husbandmen thou livest, As a friend, uninjured by them, Thou whom mortals love to honour, Herald sweet of sweet Spring's advent! Yes, thou'rt loved by all the Muses, Phoebus' self, too, needs must love thee; They their silver voices gave thee, Age can never steal upon thee.
Wise and gentle friend of poets, Born a creature fleshless, bloodless, Though Earth's daughter, free from suff'ring, To the gods e'en almost equal.
1781.


by Robert Herrick | |

A Lyric to Mirth

 While the milder fates consent,
Let's enjoy our merriment :
Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play ;
Kiss our dollies night and day :
Crowned with clusters of the vine,
Let us sit, and quaff our wine.
Call on Bacchus, chant his praise ; Shake the thyrse, and bite the bays : Rouse Anacreon from the dead, And return him drunk to bed : Sing o'er Horace, for ere long Death will come and mar the song : Then shall Wilson and Gotiere Never sing or play more here.


by Robert Herrick | |

AN ODE TO SIR CLIPSBY CREW

 Here we securely live, and eat
The cream of meat;
And keep eternal fires,
By which we sit, and do divine,
As wine
And rage inspires.
If full, we charm; then call upon Anacreon To grace the frantic Thyrse: And having drunk, we raise a shout Throughout, To praise his verse.
Then cause we Horace to be read, Which sung or said, A goblet, to the brim, Of lyric wine, both swell'd and crown'd, Around We quaff to him.
Thus, thus we live, and spend the hours In wine and flowers; And make the frolic year, The month, the week, the instant day To stay The longer here.
--Come then, brave Knight, and see the cell Wherein I dwell; And my enchantments too; Which love and noble freedom is:-- And this Shall fetter you.
Take horse, and come; or be so kind To send your mind, Though but in numbers few:-- And I shall think I have the heart Or part Of Clipsby Crew.