Here's The Bower.

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Old 14-Jan-2011
Here's The Bower.

Here's The Bower.

By Thomas Moore

Here's the bower she loved so much,
And the tree she planted;
Here's the harp she used to touch--
Oh, how that touch enchanted!
Roses now unheeded sigh;
Where's the hand to wreathe them?
Songs around neglected lie;
Where's the lip to breathe them?
Here's the bower, etc.

Spring may bloom, but she we loved
Ne'er shall feel its sweetness;
Time, that once so fleetly moved,
Now hath lost its fleetness.
Years were days, when here she strayed,
Days were moments near her;
Heaven ne'er formed a brighter maid,
Nor Pity wept a dearer!
Here's the bower, etc.

Old 02-Apr-2013
Re: Here's The Bower.

nice .....

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