The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
 | I, II. |
|
TO ------
|
|
|
| III, IV. |
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
|
|
|
|
| V. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
|
|
|
|
| VI, VII. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
|
|
| VIII, IX. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
|
|
| X. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
134
TO ------
[And hast thou mark'd the pensive shade]
And hast thou mark'd the pensive shade,
That many a time obscures my brow,
Midst all the joys, beloved maid,
Which thou canst give, and only thou?
That many a time obscures my brow,
Midst all the joys, beloved maid,
Which thou canst give, and only thou?
Oh! 'tis not that I then forget
The bright looks that before me shine;
For never throbb'd a bosom yet
Could feel their witchery, like mine.
The bright looks that before me shine;
For never throbb'd a bosom yet
Could feel their witchery, like mine.
When bashful on my bosom hid,
And blushing to have felt so blest,
Thou dost but lift thy languid lid,
Again to close it on my breast;—
And blushing to have felt so blest,
Thou dost but lift thy languid lid,
Again to close it on my breast;—
Yes,—these are minutes all thine own,
Thine own to give, and mine to feel;
Yet ev'n in them, my heart has known
The sigh to rise, the tear to steal.
Thine own to give, and mine to feel;
Yet ev'n in them, my heart has known
The sigh to rise, the tear to steal.
135
For I have thought of former hours,
When he who first thy soul possess'd,
Like me awak'd its witching powers,
Like me was lov'd, like me was blest.
When he who first thy soul possess'd,
Like me awak'd its witching powers,
Like me was lov'd, like me was blest.
Upon his name thy murmuring tongue
Perhaps hath all as sweetly dwelt;
Upon his words thine ear hath hung,
With transport all as purely felt.
Perhaps hath all as sweetly dwelt;
Upon his words thine ear hath hung,
With transport all as purely felt.
For him—yet why the past recall,
To damp and wither present bliss?
Thou'rt now my own, heart, spirit, all,
And heaven could grant no more than this!
To damp and wither present bliss?
Thou'rt now my own, heart, spirit, all,
And heaven could grant no more than this!
Forgive me, dearest, oh! forgive;
I would be first, be sole to thee,
Thou shouldst have but begun to live,
The hour that gave thy heart to me.
I would be first, be sole to thee,
Thou shouldst have but begun to live,
The hour that gave thy heart to me.
Thy book of life till then effac'd,
Love should have kept that leaf alone
On which he first so brightly trac'd
That thou wert, soul and all, my own.
Love should have kept that leaf alone
On which he first so brightly trac'd
That thou wert, soul and all, my own.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |