Thomas Moore, from Irish Melodies, vol. 7
If thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air,|
Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet;
Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair,
Or in Hope's sweet music sounds most sweet,
Shall be ours - if thou wilt be mine, love!
2. Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove,
3. And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high,|
Like streams that come from heaven-ward hills,
Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie
To be bathed by those eternal rills,
Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love!
4. All this and more the Spirit of Love
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