Thursday, February 14, 2008

Venetian Air by Thomas Moore

Row gently here, my gondolier; so softly wake the tide,
That not an ear on earth may hear, but hers to whom we glide.
Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well as starry eyes to see,
Oh! think what tales 'twould have to tell of wandering youths
like me!

Now rest thee here, my gondolier; hush, hush, for up I go,
To climb yon light balcòny's height, while thou keep'st watch
below.
Ah! did we take for Heaven above but half such pains as we
Take day and night for woman's love, what angels we should
be!

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