The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
![]() | I, II. |
![]() | III, IV. |
![]() | V. |
![]() | VI, VII. |
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![]() | VIII, IX. |
![]() | X. |
![]() | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | ![]() |
SONG.
Oh, Memory, how coldly
Thou paintest joy gone by:
Like rainbows, thy pictures
But mournfully shine and die.
Or, if some tints thou keepest,
That former days recall,
As o'er each line thou weepest,
Thy tears efface them all.
Thou paintest joy gone by:
Like rainbows, thy pictures
But mournfully shine and die.
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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.
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.
![]() | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | ![]() |