Thomas Moore on Poetry about love
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“I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.”
“Yes, loving is a painful thrill, And not to love more painful still; But oh, it is the worst of pain, To love and not be lov'd again.”
“No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turn'd when he rose.”
“A boat at midnight sent alone To drift upon the moonless sea, A lute, whose leading chord is gone, A wounded bird, that hath but one Imperfect wing to soar upon, Are like what I am, without thee.”
“"Tell me, what's Love;" said Youth, one day, To drooping Age, who crost his way.— "It is a sunny hour of play; For which repentance dear doth pay; Repentance! Repentance! And this is Love, as wise men say."”