 Drink to her, by Sir Thomas Moore, read for LibriVox.org, by Alex Eating. 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 from minstrel hands alone, by other fingers played in yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her which might pass. She answered, he who could, with golden key wealth thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home, where wealth or grandeur shines, is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native homes above. The woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Drink to her, by Sir Thomas Moore, read for LibriVox.org by Anna Roberts. 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 played it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her which might pass, she answered he who could. With golden key wealth thought to pass, but twid not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home, where wealth or grandeur shines, is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native homes above, the woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Drink to her by Sir Thomas Moore, read for LibriVox.org by Craig Campbell in Appleton, Wisconsin. 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 played at yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her, which might pass. She answered, he who could. With gold and key wealth thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home where wealth or grandeur shines, is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere. It's native home of Bob, though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Drink to her, by Sir Thomas Moore, read for LibriVox.org by Icy Jumbo. 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 played it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her which might pass. She answered, he who could. With golden key wealth thought to pass, but would not do. While wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home where wealth or grandeur shines is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native homes above, though woman keeps it here. Then 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 played it yields not half the tone. Then hears 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 played it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her, which might pass? She answered, he who could. With golden key, wealth thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home where wealth or grandeur shines is like a gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boost a brighter sphere, its native homes above, the woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. And of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Drink to her, by Sir Thomas Small, read for LibriVox.org by Diana Meilinger in July 2009. Drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. O woman's heart was made for minstrel hands alone, by other fingers played, it hears not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her, which might pass. She answered, he who could. With golden key wealth thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home where wealth and grandeur shines is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But all the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native homes above, the woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in a public domain. Drink to her by Sir Thomas Moore. Read for LibriVox.org by Elvira Scher. 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 played, it ears not half the tongue. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty store of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her which might pass. She answered, he who could. With golden key wealth thought to pass, but will not do. While wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home, where wealth or grandeur shines, is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native homes above, though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Drink to her by Sir Thomas More, read for LibriVox.org by Iswa in Belgium in July 2009. 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 played, it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her, which might pass? She answered, he who could. With golden key, well thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home where wealth or grandeur shines is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast of brighter sphere, its native homes above, though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Drink to her by Sir Thomas Moore. Read for LibriVox.org by Joy Easton. 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 played, it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her which might pass, she answered he who could. With golden key wealth thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home, where wealth or grandeur shines, is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native homes above, though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Drink to her by Sir Thomas More. Read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett. 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 played it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit went stood, they asked her which might pass. She answered, he who could, with gold and key wealth thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home where wealth or grandeur shines is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native homes above, though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Drink to her by Sir Thomas More. Read for LibriVox.org. 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 menstrual hands alone, by other fingers played, it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her, which might pass? She answered, he who could, with golden key wealth thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home, where wealth and grandeur shines, is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast the brighter sphere, its native homes above, though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. 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 played, it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her which might pass, she answered he who could, with gold and key well thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home, where wealth or grandeur shines, is like the gloomy gnome, that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native homes above, though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her which might pass, she answered he who could, with gold and key well thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home, where wealth or grandeur shines, is like the gloomy gnome, that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native homes above, though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Drink to her by Sir Thomas Moore, read for LibriVox.org by Miriam Esther Goldman. 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 played it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her which might pass, she answered he who could, with gold and key well thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home where wealth or grandeur shines is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native home alone though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Drink to her, by Sir Thomas Moore. Red for LibriVox.org By Paul P. 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's hands alone. By other fingers played, it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her which might pass. She answered, he who could. With gold and key well thought to pass but would not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home where wealth or grandeur shines is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast a brighter sear, its native homes above, though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Drink to her, by Sir Thomas Moore, read for LibriVox.org by Raven Notation. Drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. A woman's heart was made for minstrel hands alone, by other fingers played, it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her which might pass, she answered he who could. With gold and key wealth thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home, where wealth or grandeur shines, is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native homes above, the woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Oh woman's heart was made for minstrel hands alone. By other fingers played it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit one stood, they asked her which might pass, she answered he who could. With gold and key wealth thought to pass, but would not do, while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home, where wealth or grandeur shines, is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native homes above, though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Drink to her by Sir Thomas Moore. Read for Libervox.org by Valatius R. Drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. A woman's heart was made for minstrel hands alone. By other fingers played it yields not half the tone. Then hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. At beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her which might pass, she answered he who could, with golden key well thought to pass but would not do, while wit a diamond brought which cut his bright way through. So hears to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. The love that seeks a home where wealth or grandeur shines is like the gloomy gnome that dwells in dark gold mines. But oh, the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere, its native homes above, though woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy.