Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
VII. Loves PowerCome, rest in this bosom
Thomas Moore (17791852)From “Irish Melodies”
C
Though 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.
Through joy and through torment, through 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.
And thy Angel I ’ll be, mid the horrors of this,
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,
And shield thee, and save thee,—or perish there too!