Odes To Nea: On Seeing An Infant In Nea's Arms

The first ambrosial child of bliss...

by Thomas Moore

The first ambrosial child of bliss,
That Psyche to her bosom prest,
Was not a brighter babe than this,
Nor blush'd upon a lovelier breast!

His little snow-white fingers, straying
Along her lips' luxuriant flower,
Look'd like a flight of ring-doves playing,
Silvery through a roseate bower!

And when, to shade the playful boy,
Her dark hair fell, in mazes bright,
Oh ! 'twas a type of stolen joy,
'Twas love beneath the veil of night!

Soft as she smil'd, he smil'd again;
They seem'd so kindred in their charms,
That one might think, the babe had then
Just budded in her blooming arms!