Thomas Moore

May 28, 1780 - Feb 26, 1852


Odes To Nea: I Found Her Not

I found her not -- the chamber seem'd...

by Thomas Moore

I found her not -- the chamber seem'd
Like some divinely haunted place,
Where fairy forms had lately beam'd
And left behind their odorous trace!

It felt, as if her lips had shed
A sigh around her, ere she fled,
Which hung, as on a melting lute,
When all the silver chords are mute,
There lingers still a trembling breath
After the note's luxurious death,
A shade of song, a spirit air
Of melodies which had been there!

I saw the web, which all the day,
Had floated o'er her cheek of rose;
I saw the couch, where late she lay
In languor of divine repose!

And I could trace the hallow'd print
Her limbs had left, as pure and warm
As if 'twere done in rapture's mint,
And love himself had stamp'd the form!

Oh, Nea! Nea! where wert thou?
In pity fly not thus from me;
Thou art my life, my essence now,
And my soul dies of wanting thee!


The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore.
Copyright 1835
Philadelphia: J. Crissy, No. 4, Minor Street, and Desilver, Thomas, And Co., No. 247, Market Street