  THE time I’ve lost in wooing, In watching and pursuing The light that lies In woman’s eyes, Has been my heart’s undoing. Tho’ wisdom oft has sought me, I scorn’d the lore she brought me, My only books Were woman’s looks, And folly’s all they taught me. Her smile when Beauty granted, I hung with gaze enchanted, Like him the sprite Whom maids by night Like him, too, Beauty won me; But when the spell was on me, If once their ray Was turn’d away, O! winds could not outrun me. And are those follies going? And is my proud heart growing Too cold or wise For brilliant eyes Again to set it glowing? No—vain, alas! th’ endeavor From bonds so sweet to sever;— Poor Wisdom’s chance Against a glance Is now as weak as ever. Thomas Moore. |
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