Thomas Moore ( )

From Irish Melodies. 41. Lesbia Hath a Beaming Eye

LESBIA hath a beaming eye,
      But no one knows for whom it beameth;
Right and left its arrows fly,
      But what they aim at no one dreameth.
Sweeter tis to gaze upon
      My Noras lid that seldom rises;
Few its looks, but every one,
      Like unexpected light, surprises!
  Oh, my Nora Creina, dear,
      My gentle, bashful Nora Creina,
      Beauty lies
      In many eyes,
      But Love in yours, my Nora Creina.

Lesbia wears a robe of gold,
      But all so close the nymph hath laced it,
Not a charm of beautys mould
      Presumes to stay where Nature placed it.
Oh! my Noras gown for me,
      That floats as wild as mountain breezes,
Leaving every beauty free
      To sink or swell as Heaven pleases.
  Yes, my Nora Creina, dear,
      My simple, graceful Nora Creina,
      Natures dress
      Is loveliness 
      The dress you wear, my Nora Creina.

Lesbia hath a wit refined,
      But, when its points are gleaning round us,
Who can tell if theyre designd
      To dazzle merely, or to wound us?
Pillowd on my Noras heart,
      In safer slumber Love reposes 
Bed of peace! whose roughest part
      Is but the crumpling of the roses.
  Oh! my Nora Creina, dear,
      My mild, my artless Nora Creina!
      Wit, though bright,
      Hath no such light
      As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina.

Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From Irish Melodies. 61. Id Mourn the Hopes
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 3
  3. From Irish Melodies. 10. Rich and Rare Were the Gems She Wore
  4. From Irish Melodies. 92. ODonohues Mistress
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 68

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