Come, Chase That Starting Tear Away. (French Air.)

A poem by Thomas Moore

Come, chase that starting tear away,
Ere mine to meet it springs;
To-night, at least, to-night be gay,
Whate'er to-morrow brings.
Like sunset gleams, that linger late
When all is darkening fast,
Are hours like these we snatch from Fate--
The brightest, and the last.
Then, chase that starting tear, etc.

To gild the deepening gloom, if Heaven
But one bright hour allow,
Oh, think that one bright hour is given,
In all its splendor, now.
Let's live it out--then sink in night,
Like waves that from the shore
One minute swell, are touched with light,
Then lost for evermore!
Come, chase that starting tear, etc.

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