Thomas Moore

Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food
Whose read more

Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food
Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood;
And those that under Araby's soft sun
Build their high nests of budding cinnamon.

While mantling on the maiden's cheek
Young roses kindled into thought.

While mantling on the maiden's cheek
Young roses kindled into thought.

Yet, who can help loving the land that has taught us
Six hundred and eighty-five ways to dress eggs?

Yet, who can help loving the land that has taught us
Six hundred and eighty-five ways to dress eggs?

Alas! how light a cause may move
Dissension between hearts that love!
Hearts that the world in read more

Alas! how light a cause may move
Dissension between hearts that love!
Hearts that the world in vain had tried,
And sorrow but more closely tied;
That stood the storm when waves were rough,
Yet in a sunny hour fall off.

Good-bye--my paper's out so nearly,
I've only room for, Yours sincerely.

Good-bye--my paper's out so nearly,
I've only room for, Yours sincerely.