A poem by Thomas Moore

Think on that look whose melting ray
For one sweet moment mixt with mine,
And for that moment seemed to say,
"I dare not, or I would be thine!"

Think on thy every smile and glance,
On all thou hast to charm and move;
And then forgive my bosom's trance,
Nor tell me it is sin to love.

Oh, not to love thee were the sin;
For sure, if Fate's decrees be done,
Thou, thou art destined still to win,
As I am destined to be won!

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