Poem by Thomas Moore

From “Irish Melodies”. 27. Drink to Her

Drink to her, who long
  	Hath waked the poet’s sigh.
The girl, who gave to song
  	What gold could never buy.
Oh! woman’s heart was made
  	For minstrel hands alone;
By other fingers played,
  	It yields not half the tone.
Then here’s to her, who long
  	Hath waked the poet’s sigh,
The girl who gave to song
  	What gold could never buy!

At Beauty’s door of glass,
  	When Wealth and Wit once stood,
They asked her “which might pass?”
  	She answered, “he, who could.”
With golden key Wealth thought
  	To pass – but ’twould not do:
While Wit a diamond brought,
  	Which cut his bright way through.
So here’s to her, who long
  	Hath waked the poet’s sigh,
The girl, who gave to song
  	What gold could never buy!

The love that seeks a home
  	Where wealth or grandeur shines,
Is like the gloomy gnome,
  	That dwells in dark gold mines.
But oh! the poet’s love
  	Can boast a brighter sphere;
Its native home’s above,
  	Tho’ woman keeps it here.
Then drink to her, who long
  	Hath waked the poet’s sigh,
The girl, who gave to song
  	What gold could never buy.

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 52
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 38
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 54
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 17
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 56

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