The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
 | I, II. |
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| III, IV. |
| V. |
| VI, VII. |
| VIII, IX. |
| X. |
 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
317
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[The world had just begun to steal]
The world had just begun to steal
Each hope that led me lightly on;
I felt not, as I us'd to feel,
And life grew dark and love was gone.
Each hope that led me lightly on;
I felt not, as I us'd to feel,
And life grew dark and love was gone.
No eye to mingle sorrow's tear,
No lip to mingle pleasure's breath,
No circling arms to draw me near—
'Twas gloomy, and I wish'd for death.
No lip to mingle pleasure's breath,
No circling arms to draw me near—
'Twas gloomy, and I wish'd for death.
But when I saw that gentle eye,
Oh! something seem'd to tell me then.
That I was yet too young to die,
And hope and bliss might bloom again.
Oh! something seem'd to tell me then.
That I was yet too young to die,
And hope and bliss might bloom again.
With every gentle smile that crost
Your kindling cheek, you lighted home
Some feeling, which my heart had lost,
And peace, which far had learn'd to roam.
Your kindling cheek, you lighted home
Some feeling, which my heart had lost,
And peace, which far had learn'd to roam.
318
'Twas then indeed so sweet to live,
Hope look'd so new and Love so kind,
That, though I mourn, I yet forgive
The ruin they have left behind.
Hope look'd so new and Love so kind,
That, though I mourn, I yet forgive
The ruin they have left behind.
I could have lov'd you—oh, so well!—
The dream, that wishing boyhood knows,
Is but a bright, beguiling spell,
That only lives while passion glows:
The dream, that wishing boyhood knows,
Is but a bright, beguiling spell,
That only lives while passion glows:
But, when this early flush declines,
When the heart's sunny morning fleets,
You know not then how close it twines
Round the first kindred soul it meets.
When the heart's sunny morning fleets,
You know not then how close it twines
Round the first kindred soul it meets.
Yes, yes, I could have lov'd, as one
Who, while his youth's enchantments fall,
Finds something dear to rest upon,
Which pays him for the loss of all.
Who, while his youth's enchantments fall,
Finds something dear to rest upon,
Which pays him for the loss of all.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |