Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

          TAKE back the virgin page,

                White and unwritten still;

          Some hand, more calm and sage,

                The leaf must fill.

          Thoughts come, as pure as light

                Pure as even you require;

          But, oh! each word I write

                Love turns to fire.

          Yet let me keep the book:

                Oft shall my heart renew,

          When on its leaves I look,

                Dear thoughts of you.

          Like you, ’tis fair and bright;

                Like you, too bright and fair

          To let wild passion write

                One wrong wish there.

          Haply, when from those eyes

                Far, far away I roam,

          Should calmer thoughts arise

                Towards you and home;

          Fancy may trace some line,

                Worthy those eyes to meet,

          Thoughts that not burn, but shine,

                Pure, calm, and sweet.

          And as, o’er ocean far,

                Seamen their records keep,

          Led by some hidden star

                Through the cold deep;

          So may the words I write

                Tell through what storms I stray —

          You still the unseen light,

                Guiding my way.