| Thomas Moore
(1779-1852) Irish poet, satirist, composer, and musician. He was a close friend of Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe. Shelley. |
The BeachA bark o'er the waters move gloriously on; I came when the sun from that beach was declining, The bark was still there, but the waters were gone. And such is the fate of our life's early promise, So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known; Each wave, that we danc'd on at morning, ebbs from us, And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm eve of our night; Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of Morning, Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best light. |