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Drink To Her.
By Thomas Moore
Drink to her, who long,
Hath waked the poet's sigh.
The girl, who gave to song
What gold could never buy.
Oh! woman's heart was made
For minstrel hands alone;
By other fingers played,
It yields not half the tone.
Then here's to her, who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh,
The girl who gave to song
What gold could never buy.
At Beauty's door of glass,
When Wealth and Wit once stood,
They asked her 'which might pass?"
She answered, "he, who could."
With golden key Wealth thought
To pass--but 'twould not do:
While Wit a diamond brought,
Which cut his bright way through.
So here's to her, who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh,
The girl, who gave to song
What gold could never buy.
The love that seeks a home
Where wealth or grandeur shines,
Is like the gloomy gnome,
That dwells in dark gold mines.
But oh! the poet's love
Can boast a brighter sphere;
Its native home's above,
Tho' woman keeps it here.
Then drink to her, who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh,
The girl, who gave to song
What gold could never buy.
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