*T Moore, To a Young Lady on her Birth-day (moorebirthday) *U Poem http://www.iment.com/maida/familytree/henry/xmas/livingstonmoore/moorebirthday.htm *U Grammar http://www.iment.com/maida/familytree/henry/xmasresearch/grammarmoore.htm#birthday *U Search http://www.iment.com/maida/familytree/henry/xmasresearch/searchablemoorespoems.htm#birthday *C Moore's 'Poems' 1844 To hail thy natal day, fair maid, Once more I wake the lyre; Once more invoke each favoring muse My accents to inspire. But frown not if my humble strain No soothing homage pay To all the charms that grace thy mind, Or round thy features play. Alas! the brightest charms but yield A taper's trembling light; When fann'd by praise, awhile they glare, Then vanish from the sight; Or, like the soft unsullied snows That fall in graceful play, They shrink beneath the gentlest touch, And, silent, melt away. Nor shall the Muse thy foibles mark With keen relentless eye, That seem like clouds of lightest wing That speck the vernal sky. O! may young life's empurpled morn, Still mantling round thy head, Its balmly airs of youthful hope, with kindest influence, shed. May every cloud of darker hue, Ere evening shades advance, Dissolve away, or just be seen To skirt the blue expanse. And may soft tints of rosy light, With gold of purest ray, Their mild effulgence widely throw Around thy closing day.