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The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 118

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Tho' time have frozen the tuneful stream Of thoughts that gushed along, One look from thee, like summer's beam, Will thaw them into song.

Then give, oh give, that wakening ray, And once more blithe and young, Thy bard again will sing and play, As once he played and sung.

STILL WHEN DAYLIGHT.

Still when daylight o'er the wave Bright and soft its farewell gave, I used to hear, while light was falling, O'er the wave a sweet voice calling, Mournfully at distance calling.

Ah! once how blest that maid would come, To meet her sea-boy hastening home; And thro' the night those sounds repeating, Hail his bark with joyous greeting, Joyously his light bark greeting.

But, one sad night, when winds were high, Nor earth, nor heaven could hear her cry.

She saw his boat come tossing over Midnight's wave,--but not her lover!

No, never more her lover.

And still that sad dream loath to leave, She comes with wandering mind at eve, And oft we hear, when night is falling, Faint her voice thro' twilight calling, Mournfully at twilight calling.

THE SUMMER WEBS.

The summer webs that float and shine, The summer dews that fall, Tho' light they be, this heart of mine Is lighter still than all.

It tells me every cloud is past Which lately seemed to lour; That Hope hath wed young Joy at last, And now's their nuptial hour!

With light thus round, within, above, With naught to wake one sigh, Except the wish that all we love Were at this moment nigh,-- It seems as if life's brilliant sun Had stopt in full career, To make this hour its brightest one, And rest in radiance here.

MIND NOT THO' DAYLIGHT.

Mind not tho' daylight around us is breaking,-- Who'd think now of sleeping when morn's but just waking?

Sound the merry viol, and daylight or not, Be all for one hour in the gay dance forgot.

See young Aurora up heaven's hill advancing, Tho' fresh from her pillow, even she too is dancing: While thus all creation, earth, heaven, and sea.

Are dancing around us, oh, why should not we?

Who'll say that moments we use thus are wasted?

Such sweet drops of time only flow to be tasted; While hearts are high beating and harps full in tune, The fault is all morning's for coming so soon.

THEY MET BUT ONCE.

They met but once, in youth's sweet hour, And never since that day Hath absence, time, or grief had power To chase that dream away.

They've seen the suns of other skies, On other sh.o.r.es have sought delight; But never more to bless their eyes Can come a dream so bright!

They met but once,--a day was all Of Love's young hopes they knew; And still their hearts that day recall As fresh as then it flew.

Sweet dream of youth! oh, ne'er again Let either meet the brow They left so smooth and smiling then, Or see what it is now.

For, Youth, the spell was only thine, From thee alone the enchantment flows, That makes the world around thee shine With light thyself bestows.

They met but once,--oh, ne'er again Let either meet the brow They left so smooth and smiling then, Or see what it is now.

WITH MOONLIGHT BEAMING.

With moonlight beaming Thus o'er the deep, Who'd linger dreaming In idle sleep?

Leave joyless souls to live by day,-- Our life begins with yonder ray; And while thus brightly The moments flee, Our barks skim lightly The shining sea.

To halls of splendor Let great ones hie; Thro' light more tender Our pathways lie.

While round, from banks of brook or lake, Our company blithe echoes make; And as we lend 'em Sweet word or strain, Still back they send 'em More sweet again.

CHILD'S SONG.

FROM A MASQUE.

I have a garden of my own, Shining with flowers of every hue; I loved it dearly while alone, But I shall love it more with you: And there the golden bees shall come, In summer-time at break of morn, And wake us with their busy hum Around the Siha's fragrant thorn.

I have a fawn from Aden's land, On leafy buds and berries nurst; And you shall feed him from your hand, Though he may start with fear at first.

And I will lead you where he lies For shelter in the noontide heat; And you may touch his sleeping eyes, And feel his little silvery feet.

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The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 118 summary

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