The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore
Chapter 92 : Oh, guard our affection, nor e'er let it feel The blight that this world o'er

Oh, guard our affection, nor e'er let it feel The blight that this world o'er the warmest will steal: While the faith of all round us is fading or past, Let ours, ever green, keep its bloom to the last.

Far safer for Love 'tis to wake and to weep, As he used in his prime, than go smiling to sleep; For death on his slumber, cold death follows fast, White the love that is wakeful lives on to the last.

And tho', as Time gathers his clouds o'er our head, A shade somewhat darker o'er life they may spread, Transparent, at least, be the shadow they cast, So that Love's softened light may s.h.i.+ne thro' to the last.

SLUMBER, OH SLUMBER.

"Slumber, oh slumber; if sleeping thou mak'st "My heart beat so wildly, I'm lost if thou wak'st."

Thus sung I to a maiden, Who slept one summer's day, And, like a flower overladen With too much suns.h.i.+ne, lay.

Slumber, oh slumber, etc.

"Breathe not, oh breathe not, ye winds, o'er her cheeks; "If mute thus she charm me, I'm lost when she speaks."

Thus sing I, while, awaking, She murmurs words that seem As if her lips were taking Farewell of some sweet dream.

Breathe not, oh breathe not, etc.

BRING THE BRIGHT GARLANDs. .h.i.tHER.

Bring the bright garlands. .h.i.ther, Ere yet a leaf is dying; If so soon they must wither.

Ours be their last sweet sighing.

Hark, that low dismal chime!

'Tis the dreary voice of Time.

Oh, bring beauty, bring roses, Bring all that yet is ours; Let life's day, as it closes, s.h.i.+ne to the last thro' flowers.

Haste, ere the bowl's declining, Drink of it now or never; Now, while Beauty is s.h.i.+ning, Love, or she's lost for ever.

Hark! again that dull chime, 'Tis the dreary voice of Time.

Oh, if life be a torrent, Down to oblivion going, Like this cup be its current, Bright to the last drop flowing!

IF IN LOVING, SINGING.

If in loving, singing, night and day We could trifle merrily life away, Like atoms dancing in the beam, Like day-flies skimming o'er the stream, Or summer blossoms, born to sigh Their sweetness out, and die-- How brilliant, thoughtless, side by side, Thou and I could make our minutes glide!

No atoms ever glanced so bright, No day-flies ever danced so light, Nor summer blossoms mixt their sigh, So close, as thou and I!

THOU LOVEST NO MORE.

Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken Nor canst thou veil the sad truth o'er; Thy heart is changed, thy vow is broken, Thou lovest no more--thou lovest no more.

Tho' kindly still those eyes behold me, The smile is gone, which once they wore; Tho' fondly still those arms enfold me, 'Tis not the same--thou lovest no more.

Too long my dream of bliss believing, I've thought thee all thou wert before; But now--alas! there's no deceiving, 'Tis all too plain, thou lovest no more.

Oh, thou as soon the dead couldst waken, As lost affection's life restore, Give peace to her that is forsaken, Or bring back him who loves no more.

WHEN ABROAD IN THE WORLD.

When abroad in the world thou appearest.

And the young and the lovely are there, To my heart while of all thou'rt the dearest.

To my eyes thou'rt of all the most fair.

They pa.s.s, one by one, Like waves of the sea, That say to the Sun, "See, how fair we can be."

But where's the light like thine, In sun or shade to s.h.i.+ne?

No--no, 'mong them all, there is nothing like thee, Nothing like thee.

Oft, of old, without farewell or warning, Beauty's self used to steal from the skies; Fling a mist round her head, some fine morning, And post down to earth in disguise; But, no matter what shroud Around her might be, Men peeped through the cloud, And whispered, "'Tis She."

So thou, where thousands are, s.h.i.+nest forth the only star,-- Yes, yes, 'mong them all, there is nothing like thee, Nothing like thee.

KEEP THOSE EYES STILL PURELY MINE.

Keep those eyes still purely mine, Tho' far off I be: When on others most they s.h.i.+ne, Then think they're turned on me.

Should those lips as now respond To sweet minstrelsy, When their accents seem most fond, Then think they're breathed for me.

Make what hearts thou wilt thy own, If when all on thee Fix their charmed thoughts alone, Thou think'st the while on me.