The young May moon is beaming, love. <br />The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love. <br />How sweet to rove, <br />Through Morna's grove, <br />When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! <br />Then awake! -- the heavens look bright, my dear, <br />'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, <br />And the best of all ways <br />To lengthen our days <br />Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear! <br /> <br />Now all the world is sleeping, love, <br />But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love, <br />And I, whose star, <br />More glorious far, <br />Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. <br />Then awake! -- till rise of sun, my dear, <br />The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear, <br />Or, in watching the flight <br />Of bodies of light, <br />He might happen to take thee for one, my dear.<br /><br />Thomas Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-young-may-moon/
