WHO IS THE MAID? by THOMAS MOORE

I.

WHO is the maid my spirit seeks,
Through cold reproof and slander's blight,
Has @3she@1 Love's roses on her cheeks?
Is @3hers@1 an eye of this world's light?
No, wan and sunk with midnight prayer
Are the pale looks of her I love;
Or if, at times, a light be there,
Its beam is kindled from above.

II.

I chose not her, my soul's elect,
From those who seek their Maker's shrine
In gems and garlands proudly deck'd,
As if themselves were things divine!
No -- Heaven but faintly warms the breast,
That beats beneath a broider'd veil;
And she, who comes in glittering vest
To mourn her frailty, still is frail.

III.

Not so the faded form I prize
And love, because its bloom is gone;
The glory in those sainted eyes
Is all the grace @3her@1 brow puts on.
And ne'er was Beauty's dawn so bright,
So touching as that form's decay,
Which, like the altar's trembling light,
In holy lustre wastes away!

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!

Other Poems of Interest...