Oh! Days Of Youth

By Thomas Moore

Oh, days of youth and joy, long clouded,
Why thus for ever haunt my view?
When in the grave your light lay shrouded,
Why did Memory not die there too?
Vainly doth Hope her strain now sing me,
Whispering of joys that yet remain --
No, no, never more can this life bring me
One joy that equals youth's sweet pain.

Dim lies the way to death before me,
Cold winds of Time blow round my brow;
Sunshine of youth that once fell o'er me,
Where is your warmth, your glory now?
'Tis not that then no pain could sting me --
'Tis not that now no joys remain;
Oh! it is that life no more can bring me
One joy so sweet as that worst pain.