Tag: Thomas Moore

Love Poems

And the best of all ways

To lengthen our days

Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

Oh, call it by some better name,

For friendship sounds too cold.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms

Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,

Were to change by to-morrow and fleet in my arms,

Like fairy gifts fading away.

Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art,

Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart,

Would entwine itself verdantly still.

No, the heart that has truly lov’d never forgets,

But as truly loves on to the close;

As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets

The same look which she turn’d when he rose.

Thomas Moore

Canadian Boats

Faintly as tolls the evening chime,

Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.

Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,

The rapids are near, and the daylight’s past.

Thomas Moore

Poems on Age

I feel like one,

Who treads alone

Some banquet-hall deserted,

Whose lights are fled,

Whose garlands dead,

And all but he departed!

Oft, in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me,

Fond Memory brings the light

Of other days around me;

The smiles, the tears,

Of boyhood’s years,

The words of love then spoken;

The eyes that shone,

Now dimm’d and gone,

The cheerful hearts now broken!

What though youth gave love and roses,

Age still leaves us friends and wine.

All that’s bright must fade,—

The brightest and the fleetest;

All that’s sweet was made,

But to be lost when sweetest.

Thomas Moore

Love, nursed among pleasures, is faithless as they,

But the love born of Sorrow, like Sorrow, is true.

Thomas Moore

Just as the mind the erring sense believes,

The erring mind, in turn, the sense deceives.

Thomas Moore

But there’s nothing half so sweet in life

As love’s young dream.

Thomas Moore

This narrow isthmus ‘twixt two boundless seas,

The past, the future,—two eternities!

Thomas Moore

The Last Rose of Summer

‘Tis the last rose of summer,

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,

No rose-bud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes

Or give sigh for sigh!

I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one.

To pine on the stem;

Since the lovely are sleeping,

Go, sleep thou with them;

Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o’er the bed,

Where thy mates of the garden

Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,

And from love’s shining circle

The gems drop away!

When true hearts lie withered,

And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

Thomas Moore