Poem by Thomas Moore

* * *

To-day, dearest! is ours;
  Why should Love carelessly lose it?
This life shines or lowers
  Just as we, weak mortals, use it.
'Tis time enough, when its flowers decay,
  To think of the thorns of Sorrow
And Joy, if left on the stem to-day,
  May wither before to-morrow.

Then why, dearest! so long
  Let the sweet moments fly over?
Tho' now, blooming and young
  Thou hast me devoutly thy lover;
Yet Time from both, in his silent lapse,
  Some treasure may steal or borrow;
Thy charms may be less in bloom, perhaps,
  Or I less in love to-morrow.

1. Oft, When the Watching Stars Grow Pale
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 69
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 26
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 60
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 24

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