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The Song Book 147
Like those gay flies that wing thro' air, And in themselves a lustre bear, A stock of light still ready there,
Whenever they wish to use it; So, in this world I'd make for thee, Our hearts should all like fire-flies be, And the flash of wit and poesy
Break forth whenever we choose it.
While every joy that glads our sphere Hath still some shadow hovering near, In this new world of ours, my Dear,
Such shadows will all be omitted: Unless they're like that graceful one Which, when thou'rt dancing in the sun, Still near thee, leaves a charm upon
Each spot where it hath flitted.
Words by Moore.
Tune (English) Green Sleeves.