The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking, <br />The night's long hours still find me thinking <br />Of thee, thee, only thee. <br />When friends are met, and goblets crown'd, <br />And smiles are near, that once enchanted, <br />Unreach'd by all that sunshine round, <br />My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted <br />By thee, thee, only thee. <br /> <br />Whatever in fame's high path could waken <br />My spirit once, is now forsaken <br />For thee, thee, only thee. <br />Like shores, by which some headlong bark <br />To the ocean hurries, resting never, <br />Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark, <br />I know not, heed not, hastening ever <br />To thee, thee, only thee. <br /> <br />I have not a joy but of thy bringing, <br />And pain itself seems sweet when springing <br />From thee, thee, only thee. <br />Like spells, that nought on earth can break, <br />Till lips, that know the charm, have spoken, <br />This heart, howe'er the world may wake <br />Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken <br />By thee, thee, only thee.<br /><br />Thomas Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thee-thee-only-thee/
