The Young May Moon

The Young May Moon by Thomas Moore The young May moon is beaming, love. The glow-worm’s lamp is gleaming, love. How sweet to rove, Through Morna’s grove, When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! Then awake! — the heavens look bright, my dear, ‘Tis never too late for delight, my dear, And the best of allContinue reading “The Young May Moon”