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Drink to her

Thomas Moore

1779 to 1852

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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.