Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “Irish Melodies”. 86. Ne’er Ask the Hour

          Ne’er ask the hour — what is it to us
                How Time deals out his treasures?
          The golden moments lent us thus
                Are not his coin, but Pleasure’s.
          If counting them o’er could add to their blisses,
                I’d number each glorious second:
          But moments of joy are, like Lesbia’s kisses,
                Too quick and sweet to be reckon’d.
          Then fill the cup — what is it to us
                How time his circle measures?
          The fairy hours we call up thus
                Obey no wand but Pleasure’s.

          Young Joy ne’er thought of counting hours,
                Till Care, one summer’s morning,
          Set up, among his smiling flowers,
                A dial, by way of warning.
          But Joy loved better to gaze on the sun,
                As long as its light was glowing,
          Than to watch with old Care how the shadow stole on,
                And how fast that light was going.
          So fill the cup — what is it to us
                How time his circle measures?
          The fairy hours we call up thus
                Obey no wand but Pleasure’s.

1. From “Irish Melodies”. 47. What the Bee Is to the Floweret
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 16
3. From “Irish Melodies”. 3. Erin! The Tear and the Smile in Thine Eyes
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 32
5. From “Irish Melodies”. 123. From This Hour the Pledge Is Given

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