How Oft, When Watching Stars. (Savoyard Air.)
By Thomas Moore
Oft, when the watching stars grow pale, And round me sleeps the moonlight scene, To hear a flute through yonder vale I from my casement lean. "Come, come, my love!" each note then seems to say, "Oh, come, my love! the night wears fast away!" Never to mortal ear Could words, tho' warm they be, Speak Passion's language half so clear As do those notes to me! Then quick my own light lute I seek, And strike the chords with loudest swell; And, tho' they naught to others speak, He knows their language well. "I come, my love!" each note then seems to say, "I come, my love!--thine, thine till break of day." Oh, weak the power of words, The hues of painting dim Compared to what those simple chords Then say and paint to him!
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"Oft, when the watching stars grow pale,..."
"How Oft, When Watching Stars. (Savoyard Air.)" 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...