C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Ode: May fewer roses calls her own
By André Chénier (17621794)
M
And fewer vines wreathe Autumn’s throne,
Fewer the wheat-ears of the field,—
Than all the songs that Fanny’s smiles
And Fanny’s eyes and witching wiles
Inspire my lips and lyre to yield.
In words of fire to being start,
Moved by the magic of her name:
As when from ocean’s depths the shell
Yields up the pearl it wrought so well,
Worthy the Sultan’s diadem.
The Cathay silkworm twines and weaves
Her sparkling web of palest gold.
Come, dear, my Muse has silk more pure
And bright than hers, that shall endure,
And all your loveliness enfold.
With rosy fingers she shall twine,
To make a necklace rich and rare;
Come, Fanny, and that snowy neck
Let me with radiant jewels deck,
Although no pearl is half so fair.