The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 94

THE GARLAND I SEND THEE.

The Garland I send thee was culled from those bowers Where thou and I wandered in long vanished hours; Not a leaf or a blossom its bloom here displays, But bears some remembrance of those happy days.

The roses were gathered by that garden gate, Where our meetings, tho' early, seemed always too late; Where lingering full oft thro' a summer-night's moon, Our partings, tho' late, appeared always too soon.

The rest were all culled from the banks of that glade, Where, watching the sunset, so often we've strayed, And mourned, as the time went, that Love had no power To bind in his chain even one happy hour.

HOW SHALL I WOO?

If I speak to thee in friendship's name, Thou think'st I speak too coldly; If I mention Love's devoted flame, Thou say'st I speak too boldly.

Between these two unequal fires, Why doom me thus to hover?

I'm a friend, if such thy heart requires, If more thou seek'st, a lover.

Which shall it be? How shall I woo?

Fair one, choose between the two.

Tho' the wings of Love will brightly play, When first he comes to woo thee, There's a chance that he may fly away, As fast as he flies _to_ thee.

While Friendship, tho' on foot she come, No flights of fancy trying, Will, therefore, oft be found at home, When Love abroad is flying.

Which shall it be? How shall I woo?

Dear one, choose between the two.

If neither feeling suits thy heart Let's see, to please thee, whether We may not learn some precious art To mix their charms together; One feeling, still more sweet, to form From two so sweet already-- A friendship that like love is warm, A love like friendship steady.

Thus let it be, thus let me woo, Dearest, thus we'll join the two.

SPRING AND AUTUMN.

Every season hath its pleasures; Spring may boast her flowery prime, Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures Brighten Autumn's soberer time.

So Life's year begins and closes; Days tho' shortening still can shine; What tho' youth gave love and roses, Age still leaves us friends and wine.

Phillis, when she might have caught me, All the Spring looked coy and shy, Yet herself in Autumn sought me, When the flowers were all gone by.

Ah, too late;--she found her lover Calm and free beneath his vine, Drinking to the Spring-time over, In his best autumnal wine.

Thus may we, as years are flying, To their flight our pleasures suit, Nor regret the blossoms dying, While we still may taste the fruit, Oh, while days like this are ours, Where's the lip that dares repine?

Spring may take our loves and flowers, So Autumn leaves us friends and wine.

LOVE ALONE.

If thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes, First win our hearts, for there thy empire lies: Beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne, Her Right Divine is given by Love alone.

What would the rose with all her pride be worth, Were there no sun to call her brightness forth?

Maidens, unloved, like flowers in darkness thrown, Wait but that light which comes from Love alone.

Fair as thy charms in yonder gla.s.s appear, Trust not their bloom, they'll fade from year to year: Wouldst thou they still should shine as first they shone, Go, fix thy mirror in Love's eyes alone.

SACRED SONGS

TO

EDWARD TUITE DALTON, ESQ.

THE FIRST NUMBER

OF

SACRED SONGS

IS INSCRIBED,

BY HIS SINCERE AND AFFECTIONATE FRIEND,

THOMAS MOORE.

_Mayfield Cottage, Ashbourne_, _May, 1816_

SACRED SONGS