Where Are The Visions.

A poem by Thomas Moore

"Where are the visions that round me once hovered,
"Forms that shed grace from their shadows alone;
"Looks fresh as light from a star just discovered,
"And voices that Music might take for her own?"
Time, while I spoke, with his wings resting o'er me,
Heard me say, "Where are those visions, oh where?"
And pointing his wand to the sunset before me,
Said, with a voice like the hollow wind, "There."

Fondly I looked, when the wizard had spoken,
And there, mid the dim-shining ruins of day,
Saw, by their light, like a talisman broken,
The last golden fragments of hope melt away.

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