Come, Rest In This Bosom.
By Thomas Moore
Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Tho' the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here; Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same Thro' joy and thro' torment, thro' glory and shame? I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. Thou hast called me thy Angel in moments of bliss, And thy Angel I'll be, mid the horrors of this,-- Thro' the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, And shield thee, and save thee,--or perish there too!
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"Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer,..."
"Come, Rest In This Bosom." is a quintessential example of Thomas Moore's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...