The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
 | I, II. |
|
|
|
| III, IV. |
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
|
|
|
|
| V. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
|
|
|
WHEN ON THE LIP THE SIGH DELAYS. |
|
| 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 |  |
142
WHEN ON THE LIP THE SIGH DELAYS.
When on the lip the sigh delays,
As if 'twould linger there for ever;
When eyes would give the world to gaze,
Yet still look down, and venture never;
When, though with fairest nymphs we rove,
There's one we dream of more than any—
If all this is not real love,
'Tis something wond'rous like it, Fanny!
As if 'twould linger there for ever;
When eyes would give the world to gaze,
Yet still look down, and venture never;
When, though with fairest nymphs we rove,
There's one we dream of more than any—
If all this is not real love,
'Tis something wond'rous like it, Fanny!
To think and ponder, when apart,
On all we've got to say at meeting;
And yet when near, with heart to heart,
Sit mute, and listen to their beating:
To see but one bright object move,
The only moon, where stars are many—
If all this is not downright love,
I prithee say what is, my Fanny!
On all we've got to say at meeting;
And yet when near, with heart to heart,
Sit mute, and listen to their beating:
To see but one bright object move,
The only moon, where stars are many—
If all this is not downright love,
I prithee say what is, my Fanny!
143
When Hope foretells the brightest, best,
Though Reason on the darkest reckons;
When Passion drives us to the west,
Though Prudence to the eastward beckons;
When all turns round, below, above,
And our own heads the most of any—
If this is not stark, staring love,
Then you and I are sages, Fanny.
Though Reason on the darkest reckons;
When Passion drives us to the west,
Though Prudence to the eastward beckons;
When all turns round, below, above,
And our own heads the most of any—
If this is not stark, staring love,
Then you and I are sages, Fanny.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |