Row Gently Here. (Venetian Air.)

A poem by Thomas Moore

Row gently here,
My gondolier,
So softly wake the tide,
That not an ear.
On earth, may hear,
But hers to whom we glide.
Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well
As starry eyes to see,
Oh, think what tales 'twould have to tell
Of wandering youths like me!

Now rest thee here.
My gondolier;
Hush, hush, for up I go,
To climb yon light
Balcony's height,
While thou keep'st watch below.
Ah! did we take for Heaven above
But half such pains as we
Take, day and night, for woman's love,
What' Angels we should be.

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