She Sung Of Love – Thomas Moore

She sung of Love, while o’er her lyre 
The rosy rays of evening fell, 
As if to feed with their soft fire 
The soul within that trembling shell. 
The same rich light hung o’er her cheek, 
And play’d around those lips that sung 
And spoke, as flowers would sing and speak, 
If Love could lend their leaves a tongue. 

But soon the West no longer burn’d, 
Each rosy ray from heaven withdrew; 
And, when to gaze again I turn’d, 
The minstrel’s form seem’d fading too. 
As if her light and heaven’s were one, 
The glory all had left that frame; 
And from her glimmering lips the tone, 
As from a parting spirit, came.

Who ever loved, but had the thought 
That he and all he loved must part? 
Fill’d with this fear, I flew and caught 
The fading image to my heart — 
And cried, “Oh Love! is this thy doom? 
Oh light of youth’s resplendent day! 
Must ye then lose your golden bloom, 
And thus, like sunshine die away?” 

Poem – The  Fortune Teller 

Down in the valley come meet me to-night, 

And I’ll tell you your fortune truly 

As ever ’twas told, by the new-moon’s light, 

To a young maiden, shining as newly. 
But, for the world, let no one be nigh, 

Lest haply the stars should deceive me, 

Such secrets between you and me and the sky 

Should never go farther, believe me. 
If at that hour the heavens be not dim, 

My science shall call up before you 

A male apparition — the image of him 

Whose destiny ’tis to adore you. 
And if to that phantom you’ll be kind, 

So fondly around you he’ll hover, 

You’ll hardly, my dear, any difference find 

‘Twixt him and a true living lover. 
Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight, 

He’ll kneel, with a warmth of devotion — 

An ardour, of which such an innocent sprite 

You’d scarcely believe had a notion. 
What other thoughts and events may arise, 

As in destiny’s book I’ve not seen them, 

Must only be left to the stars and your eyes 

To settle, ere morning, between them. 

Poem – I saw from the Beach 

I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,

 A bark o’er the waters move gloriously on; 

I came when the sun o’er that beach was declining, 

The bark was still there, but the waters were gone. 
And such is the fate of our life’s early promise, 

So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known; 

Each wave that we danced on at morning ebbs from us, 

And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. 
Oh, who would not welcome that moment’s returning 

When passion first waked a new life through his frame, 

And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning, 

Gave out all its sweets to love’s exquisite flame.