[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Tis The Last Rose Of Summer

Tis the last rose of summer
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone:
No flower of her kindred,
No rose-bud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie wither'd,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?

By Thomas Moore
[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
I Saw From the Beach

I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on;
I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining,
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone.

And such is the fate of our life's early promise,
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known;
Each wave that we danced on at morning ebbs from us,
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone.

Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning
When passion first waked a new life through his frame,
And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning,
Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame.

By Thomas Moore
[identity profile] bright-ephemera.livejournal.com

The time I've lost in wooing,
In watching and pursuing
The light, that lies
In woman's eyes,
Has been my heart's undoing.
Though Wisdom oft has sought me,
I scorn'd the lore she brought me,
My only books
Were woman's looks,
And folly's all they've taught me.

Her smile when Beauty granted,
I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him, the sprite,
Whom maids by night
Oft meet in glen that's haunted.
Like him, too, Beauty won me,
But while her eyes were on me,
If once their ray
Was turn'd away
Oh! winds could not outrun me.

And are these follies going?
And is my proud heart growing
Too cold or wise
For brilliant eyes
Again to set it glowing?
No, vain, alas! th' endeavour
From bonds so sweet to sever;
Poor Wisdom's chance
Against a glance
Is now as weak as ever.

(This was transcribed by hand; please let me know if you spot a typo!)

[identity profile] diskarte.livejournal.com
I would tell her I love her,
Did I know but the way;
Could my lips but discover
what a lover should say, --
Could my lips but discover
what a lover should say.
Though I swear I adore her
Every morning I rise,
Yet, when I'm before her,
All my eloquence flies.
Oh, ye gods! did ye ever
Such a simpleton know?
I'm in love, and yet never
Have the heart to say so,--
No, no, ne'er have the heart to say so--
No, no, ne'er have the heart to say so.
Having plucked up a spirit,
One moonshiny night,
Then, though I, 'I'll defer it
Till to-morrow's daylight'--
Yes, thought I, 'I'll defer it
Till to-morrow's daylight.'
But, alas! The pale moon-beam
Could not frighten me more,
For I found by the noon-beam
I was dumb as before.
Oh, ye gods! did ye ever
Such a simpleton know?
I'm in love, and yet never
Have the heart to say so,--
No, no, ne'er have the heart to say so--
No, no, ne'er have the heart to say so.
[identity profile] mexcine.livejournal.com
Believe Me if All Those Endearing Young Charms

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.

--Thomas Moore

Irish poet Thomas Moore is best known today for some rather sentimental poems/songs, and even this particular one--especially in its song version (you'd know if it you heard it)--is considered old-fashioned and a bit of hoakum by some.  However, I find the sentiments (like many poems of the 19th century) to be ineffably romantic. 

Love is eternal, and not a passing fancy determined by physical beauty alone.

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