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Poem by Thomas Moore
Bright Be Thy Dreams
Welsh air Bright be thy dreams -- may all thy weeping Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping. May those by death or seas removed, The friends, who in thy springtime knew thee, All thou hast ever priz'd or lov'd, In dreams come smiling to thee! There may the child, whose love lay deepest, Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest; Still as she was -- no charm forgot -- No lustre lost that life had given; Or, if changed, but changed to what Thou'lt find her yet in Heaven!
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