Thomas Moore

From “Irish Melodies”. 38. Love's Young Dream

          OH! the days are gone, when Beauty bright
                    My heart’s chain wove;
          When my dream of life, from morn till night,
                    Was love, still love.
                    New hope may bloom,
                    And days may come,
                Of milder calmer beam,
          But there’s nothing half so sweet in life
                As love’s young dream:
          No, there’s nothing half so sweet in life
                As love’s young dream.

          Though the bard to purer fame may soar,
                    When wild youth’s past;
          Though he win the wise, who frown’d before,
                    To smile at last;
                    He’ll never meet
                    A joy so sweet,
                In all his noon of fame,
          As when first he sung to woman’s ear
                His soul-felt flame,
          And, at every close, she blush’d to hear
                The one loved name.

          No, — that hallow’d form is ne’er forgot
                    Which first love traced;
          Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
                    On memory’s waste.
                    ’Twas odour fled
                    As soon as shed;
                ’Twas morning’s winged dream;
          ’Twas a light, tht ne’er can shine again
                On life’s dull stream:
          Oh! ’twas light that n’er can shine again
                On life’s dull stream.