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The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes
  

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WAKE THEE, MY DEAR.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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203

WAKE THEE, MY DEAR.

Wake thee, my dear—thy dreaming
Till darker hours will keep;
While such a moon is beaming,
'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to sleep.
Moments there are we number,
Moments of pain and care,
Which to oblivious slumber
Gladly the wretch would spare.
But now,—who'd think of dreaming
When Love his watch should keep?
While such a moon is beaming,
'Tis wrong tow'rds Heaven to sleep.
If e'er the fates should sever
My life and hopes from thee, love,
The sleep that lasts for ever
Would then be sweet to me, love;

204

But now,—away with dreaming!
Till darker hours 'twill keep;
While such a moon is beaming,
'Tis wrong tow'rds Heaven to sleep.