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The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes
  

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SONG.

Oh, Memory, how coldly
Thou paintest joy gone by:
Like rainbows, thy pictures
But mournfully shine and die.

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Or, if some tints thou keepest,
That former days recall,
As o'er each line thou weepest,
Thy tears efface them all.
But, Memory, too truly
Thou paintest grief that's past;
Joy's colours are fleeting,
But those of Sorrow last.
And, while thou bring'st before us
Dark pictures of past ill,
Life's evening, closing o'er us,
But makes them darker still.