The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 114

Cold its pulse lies, And mute are even its sighs, All other grief it now defies.

I LOVE BUT THEE.

If, after all, you still will doubt and fear me, And think this heart to other loves will stray, If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, hear me; By every dream I have when thou'rt away, By every throb I feel when thou art near me, I love but thee--I love but thee!

By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing, Where Love in depth of shadow holds his throne, And by those lips, which give whate'er thou'rt saying, Or grave or gay, a music of its own, A music far beyond all minstrel's playing, I love but thee--I love but thee!

By that fair brow, where Innocence reposes, As pure as moonlight sleeping upon snow, And by that cheek, whose fleeting blush discloses A hue too bright to bless this world below, And only fit to dwell on Eden's roses, I love but thee--I love but thee!

LET JOY ALONE BE REMEMBERED NOW.

Let thy joys alone be remembered now, Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile; Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow, Let Love light it up with his smile, For thus to meet, and thus to find, That Time, whose touch can chill Each flower of form, each grace of mind, Hath left thee blooming still, Oh, joy alone should be thought of now, Let our sorrows go sleep awhile; Or, should thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow, Let Love light it up with his smile.

When the flowers of life's sweet garden fade, If but _one_ bright leaf remain, Of the many that once its glory made, It is not for us to complain.

But thus to meet and thus to wake In all Love's early bliss; Oh, Time all other gifts may take, So he but leaves us this!

Then let joy alone be remembered now, Let our sorrows go sleep awhile; Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er the brow, Let Love light it up with his smile!

LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE?

Love thee, dearest? love thee?

Yes, by yonder star I swear, Which thro' tears above thee Shines so sadly fair; Tho' often dim, With tears, like him, Like him my truth will shine, And--love thee, dearest? love thee?

Yes, till death I'm thine.

Leave thee, dearest? leave thee?

No, that star is not more true; When my vows deceive thee, _He_ will wander too.

A cloud of night May veil his light, And death shall darken mine-- But--leave thee, dearest? leave thee?

No, till death I'm thine.

MY HEART AND LUTE.

I give thee all--I can no more-- Tho' poor the offering be; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee.

A lute whose gentle song reveals The soul of love full well; And, better far, a heart that feels Much more than lute could tell.

Tho' love and song may fail, alas!

To keep life's clouds away, At least 'twill make them lighter pa.s.s, Or gild them if they stay.

And even if Care at moments flings A discord o'er life's happy strain, Let Love but gently touch the strings, 'Twill all be sweet again!

PEACE, PEACE TO HIM THAT'S GONE!

When I am dead.

Then lay my head In some lone, distant dell, Where voices ne'er Shall stir the air, Or break its silent spell.

If any sound Be heard around, Let the sweet bird alone, That weeps in song, Sing all night long, "Peace, peace, to him that's gone!"

Yet, oh, were mine One sigh of thine, One pitying word from thee, Like gleams of heaven, To sinners given, Would be that word to me.

Howe'er unblest, My shade would rest While listening to that tone;-- Enough 'twould be To hear from thee, "Peace, peace, to him that gone."

ROSE OF THE DESERT

Rose of the Desert! thou, whose blushing ray, Lonely and lovely, fleets unseen away; No hand to cull thee, none to woo thy sigh,-- In vestal silence left to live and die.-- Rose of the Desert! thus should woman be, Shining uncourted, lone and safe, like thee.

Rose of the Garden, how, unlike thy doom!

Destined for others, not thyself, to bloom; Culled ere thy beauty lives thro' half its day; A moment cherished, and then cast away; Rose of the Garden! such is woman's lot,-- Worshipt while blooming--when she fades, forgot.

'TIS ALL FOR THEE.