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English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “Irish Melodies”. 90. The Fortune-Teller. Томас Мур.






Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “Irish Melodies”. 90. The Fortune-Teller

DOWN in the valley come meet me to-night,
      And I’ll tell you your fortune truly
As ever ’twas told, by the new-moon’s light,
      To a young maiden, shining as newly.

But, for the world, let no one be nigh,
      Lest haply the stars should deceive me,
Such secrets between you and me and the sky
      Should never go farther, believe me.

If at that hour the heavens be not dim,
      My science shall call up before you
A male apparition — the image of him
      Whose destiny ’tis to adore you.

And if to that phantom you’ll be kind,
      So fondly around you he’ll hover,
You’ll hardly, my dear, any difference find
      ’Twixt him and a true living lover.

Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight,
      He’ll kneel, with a warmth of devotion —
An ardour, of which such an innocent sprite
      You’d scarcely believe had a notion.

What other thoughts and events may arise,
      As in destiny’s book I’ve not seen them,
Must only be left to the stars and your eyes
      To settle, ere morning, between them.

Thomas Moore’s other poems:

  1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 57
  2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 59
  3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 64
  4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 62
  5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 61




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