| Thee, Thee, Only Thee... Thomas Moore... |
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The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking, The night's long hours atill find me thinking Of thee, thee, only thee. We friends are met, and goblets crown'd, And smiles are near the once enchanted, Unreach'd by all that sunshine round, My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted By thee, thee, only thee. |
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Whatever in fame's high path could waken My spirit once is now forsaken For thee, thee, only thee. Like shores by which some headlong bark To the ocean hurries, resting never, Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark I know not, heed not, hasting ever To thee, thee, only thee. |
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I have not a joy but of thy bringing, And pain itself seems sweet when springing From thee, thee, only thee. Like spells that nought on earth can break, Till lipes that know the charm have spoken, this heart, howe'er the world may wake It's grief, it's scorn. can but be broken By thee, thee, only thee. |
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