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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529948" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Drink To Her</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Drink to her who long <br>Hath waked the poet's sigh, <br>The girl who gave to song <br>What gold could never buy. <br>Oh! woman's heart was made <br>For minstrel hands alone; <br>By other fingers play'd, <br>It yields not half the tone. <br>Then here's to her who long <br>Hath waked the poet's sigh, <br>The girl who gave to song <br>What gold could never buy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At Beauty's door of glass, <br>When Wealth and Wit once stood, <br>They ask'd her, &quot;which might pass?&quot; <br>She answer'd, &quot;he who could.&quot; <br>With golden key Wealth thought <br>To pass -- but 'twould not do: <br>While Wit a diamond brought, <br>Which cut his bright way through. <br>So here's to her who long <br>Hath waked the poet's sigh, <br>The girl who gave to song <br>What gold could never buy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The love that seeks a home <br>Where wealth or grandeur shines, <br>Is like the gloomy gnome, <br>That dwells in dark mines. <br>But oh! the poet's love <br>Can boast a brighter sphere; <br>Its native home's above, <br>Though woman keeps it here. <br>Then drink to her who long <br>Hath waked the poet's sigh, <br>The girl who gave to song <br>What gold could never buy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Moore">Thomas Moore</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529948" data-title="Drink To Her de Thomas Moore" data-description="Drink to her who long 
Hath waked the poet's sigh, 
The girl who gave to song 
What gold could never buy. 
Oh! woman's heart was made 
For minstrel hands alone; 
By other fingers play'd, 
It yields not half the tone. 
Then here's to her who long 
..."></div>
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