Thomas Moore ( )


From Irish Melodies. 86. Neer Ask the Hour


          Neer 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 Pleasures.
          If counting them oer could add to their blisses,
                Id number each glorious second:
          But moments of joy are, like Lesbias kisses,
                Too quick and sweet to be reckond.
          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 Pleasures.

          Young Joy neer thought of counting hours,
                Till Care, one summers 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 Pleasures.



Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From Irish Melodies. 61. Id Mourn the Hopes
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 3
  3. From Irish Melodies. 10. Rich and Rare Were the Gems She Wore
  4. From Irish Melodies. 92. ODonohues Mistress
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 68


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