(28 May 1779 – 25 February 1852 / Dublin)

How Dear To Me The Hour

How dear to me the hour when daylight dies,
And sunbeams melt along the silent sea,
For then sweet dreams of other days arise,
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee.

And, as I watch the line of light, that plays
Along the smooth wave toward the burning west,
I long to tread that golden path of rays,
And think 'twould lead to some bright isle of rest.

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(How Dear To Me The Hour - Poem by Thomas Moore.) **A somber tone. Like every one else who thinks of the hereafter, and of their final days at some point in this life.