Canon
by Thomas Moore

Oh, the days are gone, when beauty bright
My heart’s chain wove;
When my dream of life, from morn till night
Was love, still love.
New hope may bloom,
And days may come
Of milder, calmer beam,
But there’s nothing half so sweet in life
As love’s young dream:
No, there’s nothing half so sweet in life
As love’s young dream.

Tho’ the bard to purer fame may soar,
When wild youth’s past;
Tho’ he win the wise, who frown’d before,
To smile at last;
He’ll never meet
A joy so sweet,
In all his noon of fame,
As when first he sung to woman’s ear
His soul-felt flame,
And, at every close, she blush’d to hear
The one lov’d name!

No, — that hallow’d form is ne’er forgot
Which first love trac’d!
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
Of memory’s waste.
‘Twas odour fled
As soon as shed:
‘Twas morning’s wingéd dream:
‘Twas a light, that ne’er can shine again
On life’s dull stream!
Oh! ’twas light that ne’er can shine again
On life’s dull stream!