To........
Thomas Moore
'Tis time, I feel, to leave thee now,
While yet my soul is something free;
While yet those dangerous eyes allow
One minute's thought to stray from thee.
Oh! thou art every instant dearer-
Every chance that brings me nigh thee
Brings my ruin nearer, nearer,--
I am lost, unless I fly thee!
Nay, if thou dost not scorn and hate me,
Wish me not so soon to fall
Duties, fame, and hopes await me,
Oh! that eye would blast them all!
Yes, yes, it would - for thou'rt cold
As ever yet allured and swayed,
And wouldst, without a sigh, behold
The ruin which thyself had made.
Yet - could I think that, truly fond,
That eye but once would smile on me,
Good Heaven! how much, how far beyond
Fame, duty, hope, that smile would be!
Oh! but to win it, night and day,
Inglorious at thy feet reclined,
I'd sigh my dreams of fame away,
The world for thee forgot, resigned!
But no, no, no - farewell - we part,
Never to meet, no, never, never -
Oh woman, what a mind and heart
Thy coldness has undone forever!
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