Thee, Thee, Only Thee
Thee, Thee, Only Thee | |
Thomas Moore, from Irish Melodies, vol. 8
| The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking, The night's long hours still find me thinking Of thee, thee, only thee. When friends are met, and goblets crown'd, And smiles are near, that once enchanted, Unreach'd by all that sunshine round, My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted By thee, thee, only thee. | 2. 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, hastening ever To thee, thee, only thee. |
| 3. 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 lips, that know the charm, have spoken, This heart, howe'er the world may wake Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken By thee, thee, only thee. |