From The Greek Of Meleager

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Title:     From The Greek Of Meleager
Author: Thomas Moore [More Titles by Moore]

Fill high the cup with liquid flame,
And speak my Heliodora's name.
Repeat its magic o'er and o'er,
And let the sound my lips adore,
Live in the breeze, till every tone,
And word, and breath, speaks her alone.

Give me the wreath that withers there,
It was but last delicious night,
It circled her luxuriant hair,
And caught her eyes' reflected light.
Oh! haste, and twine it round my brow,
'Tis all of her that's left me now.
And see--each rosebud drops a tear,
To find the nymph no longer here--
No longer, where such heavenly charms
As hers _should_ be--within these arms.

[The end]
Thomas Moore's poem: From The Greek Of Meleager

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