A Night Thought.

How oft a cloud, with envious veil,
    Obscures yon bashful light,
Which seems so modestly to steal
    Along the waste of night!

'Tis thus the world's obtrusive wrongs
    Obscure with malice keen
Some timid heart, which only longs
    To live and die unseen.

Thomas Moore

Thomas Moore was an Irish poet, singer, and songwriter, celebrated for his Irish Melodies, which are now considered a staple of Irish cultural heritage. Born on May 28, 1779, in Dublin, Ireland, Moore gained fame for his lyrical songs, many of which were set to traditional Irish tunes. Not only a poet, but he was also a staunch advocate of Irish nationalism, often incorporating themes of national identity and resistance into his work. Moore's influential collection 'Irish Melodies' became popular in both Ireland and Britain and helped to define the literary output of the era. He passed away on February 25, 1852, but his legacy in Irish literature and music endures.

Thomas Moore

The Fudges In England. Letter V. From Larry O'Branigan, In England, To His Wife Judy, At Mullinafad.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Oh Banquet Not.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

To The Marchioness Dowager Of Donegall.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Song Of A Hyperborean.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Dreaming For Ever.

Dreaming for ever, vainly dreaming,
    Life to the last, pursues its flight;
Day hath its visions fairly beaming,
    But false as those of night.
The one illusion, the other real,
    But both the same brief dreams at last;
And when we grasp the bliss ideal,
    Soon as it shines, 'tis past.

Here, then, by this dim lake reposing,
    Calmly I'll watch, while light and gloom
Flit o'er its face till night is closing--
    Emblem of life's short doom!
But tho', by turns, thus dark and shining,
    'Tis still unlike man's changeful day,
Whose light returns not, once declining,
    Whose cloud, once come, will stay.

Thomas Moore

Stanzas.

A beam of tranquillity smiled in the west,
The storms of the morning pursued us no more;
And the wave, while it welcomed the moment of rest.
Still heaved, as remembering ills that were o'er.

Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour,
    Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead;
And the spirit becalmed but remembered their power,
    As the billow the force of the gale that was fled.

I thought of those days, when to pleasure alone
    My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh;
When the saddest emotion my bosom had known,
    Was pity for those who were wiser than I.

I reflected, how soon in the cup of Desire
    The pearl of the soul may be melted away;
How quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of fire
    We inherit from heaven, may be quenched ...

Thomas Moore

Rhymes On The Road. Extract XIV. Rome.

Fragment of a Dream.--The great Painters supposed to be Magicians.--The Beginnings of the Art.--Gildings on the Glories and Draperies.-- Improvements under Giotto, etc.--The first Dawn of the true Style in Masaccio.--Studied by all the great Artists who followed him.--Leonardo da Vinci, with whom commenced the Golden Age of Painting.--His Knowledge of Mathematics and of Music.--His female heads all like each other.-- Triangular Faces.--Portraits of Mona Lisa, etc.--Picture of Vanity and Modesty.--His chef-d'oeuvre, the Last Supper.--Faded and almost effaced.


Filled with the wonders I had seen
    In Rome's stupendous shrines and halls,
I felt the veil of sleep serene
Come o'er the memory of each scene,
    As twilight o'er the landscape falls.
Nor was it slumber, sound and deep,

Thomas Moore

At Night.

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At night, when all is still around.
How sweet to hear the distant sound
    Of footstep, coming soft and light!
What pleasure in the anxious beat,
With which the bosom flies to meet
    That foot that comes so soft at night!

And then, at night, how sweet to say
"'Tis late, my love!" and chide delay,
    Tho' still the western clouds are bright;
Oh! happy, too, the silent press,
The eloquence of mute caress.
    With those we love exchanged at night!

Thomas Moore

To .......

That wrinkle, when first I espied it,
    At once put my heart out of pain;
Till the eye, that was glowing beside it,
    Disturbed my ideas again.

Thou art just in the twilight at present,
    When woman's declension begins;
When, fading from all that is pleasant,
    She bids a good night to her sins.

Yet thou still art so lovely to me,
    I would sooner, my exquisite mother!
Repose in the sunset of thee,
    Than bask in the noon of another.

Thomas Moore

Whene'er I See Those Smiling Eyes.

Whene'er I see those smiling eyes,
    So full of hope, and joy, and light,
As if no cloud could ever rise,
    To dim a heaven so purely bright--
I sigh to think how soon that brow
    In grief may lose its every ray,
And that light heart, so joyous now,
    Almost forget it once was gay.

For time will come with all its blights,
    The ruined hope, the friend unkind,
And love, that leaves, where'er it lights,
    A chilled or burning heart behind:--
While youth, that now like snow appears,
    Ere sullied by the darkening rain,
When once 'tis touched by sorrow's tears
    Can ever shine so bright again.

Thomas Moore