Thomas Moore

Then should some cloud pass over
The brow of sire or lover,
Think 'tis the shade
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Then should some cloud pass over
The brow of sire or lover,
Think 'tis the shade
By Victory made
Whose wings right o'er us hover!

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and
that is eternity.

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and
that is eternity.

One sole desire, one passion now remains
To keep life's fever still within his veins,
Vengeance! dire read more

One sole desire, one passion now remains
To keep life's fever still within his veins,
Vengeance! dire vengeance on the wretch who cast
O'er him and all he lov'd that ruinous blast.

Hath the pearl less whiteness
Because of its birth?
Hath the violet less brightness
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Hath the pearl less whiteness
Because of its birth?
Hath the violet less brightness
For growing near earth?

How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night,
When, roused by lute or horn, she read more

How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night,
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes,
Goes answering light.