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!

1. From “Irish Melodies”. 57. Oh! Had We Some Bright Little Isle of Our Own
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 15
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 32
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 113. Alone in Crowds to Wander On
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 34

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