Thomas Moore,
The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore
“ That o'er the tender Lesbian stole; And in a voice whose thrilling tone Fancy might deem the Lesbian's own, One of those fervid fragments gave, Which still,—like sparkles of Greek Fire, Undying, even beneath the wave,— Burn on thro' Time and ne'er expire.SONG. As o'er her loom the Lesbian Maid In love-sick languor hung her head, Unknowing where her fingers strayed, She weeping turned away, and said, "Oh, my sweet Mother—'tis in vain— "I cannot weave, as once I wove— "So wildered is my heart and brain "With thinking of that youth I love!" ”
