English poem
(Portuguese Air.)
by Thomas Moore
Whisperings, heard by wakeful maids, To whom the night-stars guide us; Stolen walks thro' moonlight shades, With those we love beside us, Hearts beating, At meeting; Tears starting, At parting; Oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades! Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting!
Wanderings far away from home, With life all new before us; Greetings warm, when home we come, From hearts whose prayers watched o'er us. Tears starting, At parting; Hearts beating, At meeting; Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some! To some, how bright and fleeting!
HEAR ME BUT ONCE.