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 “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 54
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 46
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 56
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 113. Alone in Crowds to Wander On
5. From “Irish Melodies”. 114. I’ve a Secret to Tell Thee

Print

1238 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version