If life for me hath joy or light.
'Tis all from thee,
My thoughts by day, my dreams by night,
Are but of thee, of only thee.
What'er of hope or peace I know,
My zest in joy, my balm in woe,
To those dear eyes of thine I owe,
'Tis all from thee.
My heart, ev'n ere I saw those eyes,
Seem'd doom'd to thee;
Kept pure till then from other ties,
'Twas all for thee, for only thee.
Like plants that sleep, till sunny May
Calls forth their life, my spirit lay,
Till, touch'd by Love's awak'ning ray,
It liv'd for thee, it liv'd for thee.
When Fame would call me to her heights,
she speaks by thee;
And dim would shine her proudest lights,
Unshar'd by thee, unshar'd by thee.
Whene'er I seek the Muse's shrine,
Where Bards have hung their wreaths divine,
And wish those wreaths of glory mine,
'Tis all for thee, only for the.
Thomas Moore
|
 |