Thomas Moore ( )


From Irish Melodies. 61. Id Mourn the Hopes


ID mourn the hopes that leave me,
      If thy smiles had left me too;
Id weep when friends deceive me,
      If thou wert, like them, untrue.
But while Ive thee before me,
      With heart so warm and eyes so bright,
No clouds can linger oer me,
      That smile turns them all to light.

Tis not in fate to harm me,
      While fate leaves thy love to me:
Tis not in joy to charm me,
      Unless joy be shared with thee.
One minutes dream about thee
      Were worth a long, an endless year
Of waking bliss without thee,
      My own love, my only dear!

And though the hope be gone, love,
      That long sparkled oer our way,
Oh! we shall journey on, love,
      More safely, without its ray.
Far better lights shall win me,
      Along the path Ive yet to roam 
The mind that burns within me,
      And pure smiles from thee at home.

Thus, when the lamp that lighted
      The traveller at first goes out,
He feels awhile benighted,
      And looks round in fear and doubt.
But soon, the prospect clearing,
      By cloudless starlight on he treads,
And thinks no lamp so cheering
      As the light which Heaven sheds.



Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 34
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 15
  3. From Irish Melodies. 57. Oh! Had We Some Bright Little Isle of Our Own
  4. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 25
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 10


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