C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Love’s Young Dream
By Thomas Moore (1779–1852)
O
My heart’s chain wove;
When my dream of life, from morn till night,
Was love, still love.
New hope may bloom,
And days may come
Of milder, calmer beam,
But there’s nothing half so sweet in life
As love’s young dream;
No, there’s nothing half so sweet in life
As love’s young dream.
When wild youth’s past;
Though he win the wise, who frowned before,
To smile at last:
He’ll never meet
A joy so sweet,
In all his noon of fame,
As when first he sung to woman’s ear
His soul-felt flame,
And at every close she blushed to hear
The one loved name.
Which first love traced;
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
On memory’s waste.
’Twas odor fled
As soon as shed;
’Twas morning’s winged dream:
’Twas a light that ne’er can shine again
On life’s dull stream;
Oh! ’twas light that ne’er can shine again
On life’s dull stream.