Thomas Moore ( )


From Irish Melodies. 48. Love and the Novice


"HERE we dwell, in holiest bowers,
      Where angels of light oer our orisans bend;
Where sighs of devotion and breathings of flowers
      To heaven in mingled odour ascend.
  Do not disturb our calm, oh Love!
  So like is thy form to the cherubs above,
It well might deceive such hearts as ours."

Love stood near the Novice and listend,
      And Love is no novice in taking a hint;
His laughing blue eyes soon with piety glistend;
      His rosy wing turnd to heavens own tint.
  "Who would have thought," the urchin cries,
  "That Love could so well, so gravely disguise
His wandering wings, and wounding eyes?"

Love now warms thee, waking and sleeping,
      Young Novice, to him all thy orisons rise.
He tinges the heavenly fount with his weeping,
      He brightens the censers flame with his sighs.
  Love is the Saint enshrined in thy breast,
  And angels themselves would admit such a guest,
If he came to them clothed in Pietys vest.



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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