Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Thomas Moore. 17791852585. At the Mid Hour of Night
AT the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly | |
To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; | |
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air | |
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there, | |
And tell me our love is remember’d even in the sky. | 5 |
Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear, | |
When our voices commingling breathed like one on the ear; | |
And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, | |
I think, O my love! ’tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls | |
Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. | 10 |