Poetry of Moore
Thomas Moore
born 1780, died 1852 |
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There Comes A Time
There comes a time, a deary time,
To him whose heart hath flown
O'er all the fields of youth's sweet prime,
And made his soul must first renounce
Those dreams so bright, so fond;
Oh! then 's the time to die at once,
For life has nought beyond.
When sets the sun on Afric's shore,
That instant all is night;
And so should life at once be o'er,
When Love withdraws his light;
Nor, like our northern day, gleam on
Through twilight's dim delay,
The cold remains of lustre gone,
Of fire long pass'd away.
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