Poem by Thomas Moore

* * *

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. 

1. From “Irish Melodies”. 41. Lesbia Hath a Beaming Eye
2. From “Irish Melodies”. 47. What the Bee Is to the Floweret
3. From “Irish Melodies”. 120. Oh, Could We Do with This World of Ours
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 48. Love and the Novice
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 27

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