Thomas Moore

It seem'd as if each thought and look
And motion were that minute chain'd
Fast to the read more

It seem'd as if each thought and look
And motion were that minute chain'd
Fast to the spot such root she took,
And--like a sunflower by a brook,
With face upturn'd--so still remain'd!

Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells!

Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells!

Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour
When pleasure, like the midnight flower
That scorns the eye read more

Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour
When pleasure, like the midnight flower
That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night.

Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious and free,
First flower of the earth, and first gem read more

Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious and free,
First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea.

All that's bright must fade,--
The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made
read more

All that's bright must fade,--
The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made
But to be lost when sweetest.