The Poetry Corner

All That's Bright Must Fade. (Indian Air.)

By Thomas Moore

All that's bright must fade,-- The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest. Stars that shine and fall;-- The flower that drops in springing;-- These, alas! are types of all To which our hearts are clinging. All that's bright must fade,-- The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest? Who would seek our prize Delights that end in aching? Who would trust to ties That every hour are breaking? Better far to be In utter darkness lying, Than to be blest with light and see That light for ever flying. All that's bright must fade,-- The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest!