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Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852

"The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Collected by Himself with Explanatory Notes"


But if in wandering thither
Thou find'st she mocks my prayer,
Then leave those wreaths to wither
Upon the cold bank there;
And tell her thus, when youth is o'er,
Her lone and loveless Charms shall be
Thrown by upon life's weedy shore.
Like those sweet flowers from thee.



ALL THAT'S BRIGHT MUST FADE.
(INDIAN AIR.)

All that's bright must fade,--
The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made
But to be lost when sweetest.
Stars that shine and fall;--
The flower that drops in springing;--
These, alas! are types of all
To which our hearts are clinging.
All that's bright must fade,--
The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made
But to be lost when sweetest?
Who would seek our prize
Delights that end in aching?
Who would trust to ties
That every hour are breaking?
Better far to be
In utter darkness lying,
Than to be blest with light and see
That light for ever flying.
All that's bright must fade,--
The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made
But to be lost when sweetest!



SO WARMLY WE MET.
(HUNGARIAN AIR.)

So warmly we met and so fondly we parted,
That which was the sweeter even I could not tell,--
That first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted,
Or that tear of passion, which blest our farewell.


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