Thomas Moore

May 28, 1780 - Feb 26, 1852


I'd Mourn The Hopes That Leave Me.

by Thomas Moore

I'd mourn the hopes that leave me,
If thy smiles had left me too;
I'd weep when friends deceive me,
Hadst thou been like them untrue.
But while I've thee before me,
With heart so warm, and eyes so bright,
No clouds can linger o'er me,
That smile turns them all to light.

'Tis not in fate to harm me,
While fate leaves thy love to me;
'Tis not in joy to charm me,
Unless joy be shar'd with thee.
One minute's dream about thee
Were worth a long and endless year
Of waking bliss without thee,
My own love, my only dear!

And though the hope be gone, love,
That long sparkled o'er our way,
Oh! we shall journey on, love,
More safely, without its ray.
Far better light shall win me,
Along the path I've yet to roam;
The mind that burns within me,
And pure smiles from thee at home.

Thus when the lamp that lighted
The traveller, at first goes out,
He feels awhile benighted,
And looks round in fear and doubt.
But soon, the prospect clearing,
By cloudless star-light on he treads,
And thinks no lamp so cheering
As that light which heaven sheds!


The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore.
Copyright undated, very old
The Walter Scott Publishing Co. Ltd.