Thomas Moore ( )


From Irish Melodies. 45. Nay, Tell Me Not, Dear


          NAY, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns
                One charm of feeling, one fond regret;
          Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns
                Are all Ive sunk in its bright wave yet.
                    Neer hath a beam
                    Been lost in the stream
                That ever was shed from thy form or soul;
                    The spell of those eyes,
                    The balm of thy sighs,
                Still float on the surface, and hallow by bowl.
          Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal
                One blissful dream of the heart from me;
          Like founts that awaken the pilgrims zeal,
          The bowl but brightens my love for thee.

          They tell us the Love in his fairy bower
                Had two blush-roses, of birth divine;
          He sprinkled the one with a rainbows shower,
                But bathed the other with mantling wine.
                    Soon did the buds
                    That drunk of the floods
                Distilld by the rainbow decline and fade;
                    While those which the tide
                    Of ruby had dyed
                All blushd into beauty, like thee, sweet maid!
          Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal
                One blissful dream of the heart from me;
          Like founts that awaken the pilgrims zeal,
                The bowl but brightens my love for thee.



Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 46
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 60
  3. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 9
  4. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 50
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 74


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