Thomas Moore

May 28, 1780 - Feb 26, 1852


Lesbia Hath A Beaming Eye

by Thomas Moore

Lesbia hath a beaming eye,
But no one knows for whom it beameth;
Right and left its arrows fly,
But what they aim at no one dreameth.
Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon
My Nora's lid, that seldom rises;
Few her looks, but every one,
Like unexpected light surprises!
Oh, my Nora Creina dear,
My gentle, bashful Nora Creina,
Beauty lies
In many eyes,
But love in yours, my Nora Creina.

Lesbia wears a robe of gold,
But all so close the nymph hath lac'd it,
Not a charm of beauty's mould,
Presumes to say where nature plac'd it!
Oh! my Nora's gown for me,
That floats as wild as mountain breezes,
Leaving every beauty free
To sink or swell as heaven pleases!
Yes, my Nora Creina, dear!
My simple, graceful Nora Creina!
Nature's dress
Is loveliness,
The dress you wear, my Nora Creina!

Lesbia hath a wit refin'd,
But when its points are gleaming round us,
Who can tell if they're design'd
To dazzle merely, or to wound us?
Pillow'd on my Nora's heart,
In safer slumber Love reposes;
Bed of peace! whose roughest part
Is but the crumpling of the roses!
Oh! my Nora Creina, dear!
My mild, my artless Nora Creina!
Wit, though bright,
Hath not the light
That warms your eyes, my Nora Creina!


The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore.
Copyright undated, very old
The Walter Scott Publishing Co. Ltd.
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