Thomas Haynes Bayly

There is a method in man's wickedness:
It grows up by degrees.

There is a method in man's wickedness:
It grows up by degrees.

My fond affection thou hast seen,
Then judge of my regret
To think more happy thou hadst read more

My fond affection thou hast seen,
Then judge of my regret
To think more happy thou hadst been
If we had never met!
And has that thought been shared by thee?
Ah, no! that smiling cheek
Proves more unchanging love for me
Than labor'd words could speak.

She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.

She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall,
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall.

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall,
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall.

Fly away, pretty moth, to the shade
Of the leaf where you slumbered all day;
Be content read more

Fly away, pretty moth, to the shade
Of the leaf where you slumbered all day;
Be content with the moon and the stars, pretty moth,
And make use of your wings while you may.
. . . .
But tho' dreams of delight may have dazzled you quite,
They at last found it dangerous play;
Many things in this world that look bright, pretty moth,
Only dazzle to lead us astray.