The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
 | I, II. |
| III, IV. |
 | V. |
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HERE'S THE BOWER. |
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| VI, VII. |
| VIII, IX. |
| X. |
 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
162
HERE'S THE BOWER.
Here's the bower she loved so much,
And the tree she planted;
Here's the harp she used to touch—
Oh, how that touch enchanted!
Roses now unheeded sigh;
Where's the hand to wreathe them?
Songs around neglected lie;
Where's the lip to breathe them?
Here's the bower, &c.
And the tree she planted;
Here's the harp she used to touch—
Oh, how that touch enchanted!
Roses now unheeded sigh;
Where's the hand to wreathe them?
Songs around neglected lie;
Where's the lip to breathe them?
Here's the bower, &c.
Spring may bloom, but she we loved
Ne'er shall feel its sweetness;
Time, that once so fleetly moved,
Now hath lost its fleetness.
Years were days, when here she stray'd,
Days were moments near her;
Heaven ne'er form'd a brighter maid,
Nor Pity wept a dearer!
Here's the bower, &c.
Ne'er shall feel its sweetness;
Time, that once so fleetly moved,
Now hath lost its fleetness.
Years were days, when here she stray'd,
Days were moments near her;
Heaven ne'er form'd a brighter maid,
Nor Pity wept a dearer!
Here's the bower, &c.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |