Thomas Moore ( )

From Irish Melodies. 120. Oh, Could We Do with This World of Ours

          OH, could we do with this world of ours
          As thou dost with thy garden bowers,
          Reject the weeds and keep the flowers,
          What a heaven on earth wed make it!
          So bright a dwelling should be our own,
          So warranted free from sigh or frown,
          That angels soon would be coming down,
                    By the week or month to take it.

          Like those gay flies that wing through air,
          And in themselves a lustre bear,
          A stock of light, still ready there,
                    Whenver they wish to use it;
          So in this world Id make for thee,
          Our hearts should all like fire-flies be,
          And the flash of wit or poesy
                    Break forth whenever we choose it.

          While every joy that glads our sphere
          Hath still some shadow hovering near,
          In this new world of ours, my dear,
                    Such shadows will all be omitted; 
          Unless theyre like that graceful one,
          Which when thourt dancing in the sun,
          Still near thee, leaves a charm upon
                    Each spot where it hath flitted!

Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 46
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 60
  3. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 19
  4. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 9
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 50

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