Poem by Thomas Moore

From “Irish Melodies”. 62. Come O'er the Sea

		Come o’er the sea,
		Maiden! With me,
	Mine thro’ sunshine, storm, and snows;
		Seasons may roll,
		But the true soul
	Burns the same, where’er it goes.
Let fate frown on, so we love and part not;
’Tis life where thou art, ’tis death where thou are not!
		Then come o’er the sea,
		Maiden! With me,
	Come wherever the wild wind blows;
		Seasons may roll,
		But the true soul
	Burns the same, where’er it goes.

		Is not the sea
		Made for the free,
	Land for courts and chains alone?
		Here we are Slaves,
		But, on the Waves,
	Love and liberty’s all our own!
No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us,
All earth forgot, and all Heaven around us! –
		Then come o’er the sea,
		Maiden! With me,
	Come wherever the wild wind blows;
		Seasons may roll,
		But the true soul
	Burns the same, where’er it goes.

1. Oft, When the Watching Stars Grow Pale
2. To-Day, Dearest! Is Ours
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 45
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 38
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 65

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