Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

At morn, beside yon summer sea,

    Young Hope and Love reclined;

But scarce had noon-tide come, when he

Into his bark leapt smilingly,

    And left poor Hope behind.

"I go," said Love, "to sail awhile

    "Across this sunny main;"

And then so sweet, his parting smile,

That Hope, who never dreamt of guile,

    Believed he’d come again.

She lingered there till evening’s beam

    Along the waters lay;

And o’er the sands, in thoughtful dream,

Oft traced his name, which still the stream

    As often washed away.

At length a sail appears in sight,

    And toward the maiden moves!

’Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and bright,

His golden bark reflects the light,

    But ah! it is not Love’s.

Another sail—’twas Friendship showed

    Her night-lamp o’er the sea;

And calm the light that lamp bestowed;

But Love had lights that warmer glowed,

    And where, alas! was he?

Now fast around the sea and shore

    Night threw her darkling chain;

The sunny sails were seen no more,

Hope’s morning dreams of bliss were o’er—

    Love never came again!