Poem by 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 I’ve sunk in its bright wave yet.
                    Ne’er 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 pilgrim’s 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 rainbow’s shower,
                But bathed the other with mantling wine.
                    Soon did the buds
                    That drunk of the floods
                Distill’d by the rainbow decline and fade;
                    While those which the tide
                    Of ruby had dyed
                All blush’d 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 pilgrim’s zeal,
                The bowl but brightens my love for thee.

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 75
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 16
3. Bright Be Thy Dreams
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 123. From This Hour the Pledge Is Given
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 27

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