To Julia. On Her Birthday.

A poem by Thomas Moore

When Time was entwining the garland of years,
Which to crown my beloved was given,
Though some of the leaves might be sullied with tears,
Yet the flowers were all gathered in heaven.

And long may this garland be sweet to the eye,
May its verdure forever be new;
Young Love shall enrich it with many a sigh,
And Sympathy nurse it with dew.

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