All that's bright must fade (Indian Air)

Thomas Moore

1779 to 1852

Poem Image

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!