Round The World Goes.

A poem by Thomas Moore

Round the world goes, by day and night,
While with it also round go we;
And in the flight of one day's light
An image of all life's course we see.
Round, round, while thus we go round,
The best thing a man can do,
Is to make it, at least, a merry-go-round,
By--sending the wine round too.

Our first gay stage of life is when
Youth in its dawn salutes the eye--
Season of bliss! Oh, who wouldn't then
Wish to cry, "Stop!" to earth and sky?
But, round, round, both boy and girl
Are whisked thro' that sky of blue;
And much would their hearts enjoy the whirl,
If--their heads didn't whirl round too.

Next, we enjoy our glorious noon,
Thinking all life a life of light;
But shadows come on, 'tis evening soon,
And ere we can say, "How short!"--'tis night.
Round, round, still all goes round,
Even while I'm thus singing to you;
And the best way to make it a merry-go-round,
Is to--chorus my song round too.

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