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Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)


* * *


What the bee is to the floweret,
When he looks for honey-dew,
Through the leaves that close embower it,
That, my love, I'll be to you.

She. --

What the bank, with verdure glowing,
Is to waves that wander near,
Whispering kisses, while they're going,
That I'll be to you, my dear.

She. --

But they say, the bee's a rover,
Who will fly, when sweets are gone,
And, when once the kiss is over,
Faithless brooks will wander on.

He. --

Nay, if flowers will lose their looks
If sunny banks will wear away,
'Tis but right that bees and brooks
Should sip and kiss them, while they may. 



Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From “Irish Melodies”. 61. I’d 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. O’Donohue’s Mistress
  5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 68


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