To .......

A poem by Thomas Moore

Remember him thou leavest behind,
Whose heart is warmly bound to thee,
Close as the tenderest links can bind
A heart as warm as heart can be.

Oh! I had long in freedom roved,
Though many seemed my soul to snare;
'Twas passion when I thought I loved,
'Twas fancy when I thought them fair.

Even she, my muse's early theme,
Beguiled me only while she warmed;
Twas young desire that fed the dream,
And reason broke what passion formed.

But thou-ah! better had it been
If I had still in freedom roved,
If I had ne'er thy beauties seen,
For then I never should have loved.

Then all the pain which lovers feel
Had never to this heart been known;
But then, the joys that lovers steal,
Should they have ever been my own?

Oh! trust me, when I swear thee this,
Dearest! the pain of loving thee,
The very pain is sweeter bliss
Than passion's wildest ecstasy.

That little cage I would hot part,
In which my soul is prisoned now,
For the most light and winged heart
That wantons on the passing vow.

Still, my beloved! still keep in mind,
However far removed from me,
That there is one thou leavest behind,
Whose heart respires for only thee!

And though ungenial ties have bound
Thy fate unto another's care,
That arm, which clasps thy bosom round,
Cannot confine the heart that's there.

No, no! that heart is only mine
By ties all other ties above,
For I have wed it at a shrine
Where we have had no priest but Love.

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