With Moonlight Beaming.

A poem by Thomas Moore

With moonlight beaming
Thus o'er the deep,
Who'd linger dreaming
In idle sleep?
Leave joyless souls to live by day,--
Our life begins with yonder ray;
And while thus brightly
The moments flee,
Our barks skim lightly
The shining sea.

To halls of splendor
Let great ones hie;
Thro' light more tender
Our pathways lie.
While round, from banks of brook or lake,
Our company blithe echoes make;
And as we lend 'em
Sweet word or strain,
Still back they send 'em
More sweet again.

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