English poem
To Cloe. Imitated From Martial.
by Thomas Moore
I could resign that eye of blue. How e'er its splendor used to thrill me; And even that cheek of roseate hue,— To lose it, Cloe, scarce would kill me. That snowy neck I ne'er should miss, However much I've raved about it; And sweetly as that lip can kiss, I think I could exist without it. In short, so well I've learned to fast, That, sooth my love, I know not whether I might not bring myself at last, To—do without you altogether.
More by Thomas Moore
- To Cara, After An Interval Of Absence.
- To Cara, On The Dawning Of A New Year's Day.
- TO CAROLINE, VISCOUNTESS VALLETORT.
- To catch the thought, by painting's spell...
- To Francis, Earl Of Moira.
- To George Morgan, Esq. Of Norfolk, Virginia.
- To His Serene Highness The Duke Of Montpensier On His Portrait Of The Lady Adelaide Forbes.
- TO JAMES CORRY, ESQ.