Poem by Thomas Moore

From “Irish Melodies”. 48. Love and the Novice

"HERE we dwell, in holiest bowers,
      Where angels of light o’er 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 listen’d,
      And Love is no novice in taking a hint;
His laughing blue eyes soon with piety glisten’d;
      His rosy wing turn’d to heaven’s 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 censer’s 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 Piety’s vest.

1. From “Irish Melodies”. 47. What the Bee Is to the Floweret
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 32
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 16
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 3. Erin! The Tear and the Smile in Thine Eyes
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 74

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