Bright Moon.

Bright moon, that high in heaven art shining,
    All smiles, as if within thy bower to-night
Thy own Endymion lay reclining,
    And thou wouldst wake him with a kiss of light!--
By all the bliss thy beam discovers,
    By all those visions far too bright for day,
Which dreaming bards and waking lovers
    Behold, this night, beneath thy lingering ray,--

I pray thee, queen of that bright heaven,
    Quench not to-night thy love-lamp in the sea,
Till Anthe, in this bower, hath given
    Beneath thy beam, her long-vowed kiss to me.
Guide hither, guide her steps benighted,
    Ere thou, sweet moon, thy bashful crescent hide;
Let Love but in this bower be lighted,
    Then shroud in darkness all the world beside.

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

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXI.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXIV.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Come, Send Round The Wine.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Written In The Blank Leaf Of A Lady's Commonplace Book.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

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The Grecian Girl's Dream Of The Blessed Islands.[1]

TO HER LOVER.


Was it the moon, or was it morning's ray,
That call'd thee, dearest, from these arms away?
Scarce hadst thou left me, when a dream of night
Came o'er my spirit so distinct and bright,
That, while I yet can vividly recall
Its witching wonders, thou shall hear them all.
Methought I saw, upon the lunar beam,
Two winged boys, such as thy muse might dream,
Descending from above, at that still hour,
And gliding, with smooth step, into my bower.
Fair as the beauteous spirits that, all day.
In Amatha's warm founts imprisoned stay,
But rise at midnight, from the enchanted rill,
To cool their plumes upon some moonlight hill.

    At once I knew their mission:--'twas to bear
My spirit upward, through the paths of air,
To that elysian r...

Thomas Moore

With Moonlight Beaming.

With moonlight beaming
    Thus o'er the deep,
Who'd linger dreaming
    In idle sleep?
Leave joyless souls to live by day,--
Our life begins with yonder ray;
And while thus brightly
    The moments flee,
Our barks skim lightly
    The shining sea.

To halls of splendor
    Let great ones hie;
Thro' light more tender
    Our pathways lie.
While round, from banks of brook or lake,
Our company blithe echoes make;
And as we lend 'em
    Sweet word or strain,
Still back they send 'em
    More sweet again.

Thomas Moore

Ode To The Moon.

I.

Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go
Over those hoary crests, divinely led! -
Art thou that huntress of the silver bow,
Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread
Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below,
Like the wild Chamois from her Alpine snow,
Where hunter never climb'd, - secure from dread?
How many antique fancies have I read
Of that mild presence! and how many wrought!
Wondrous and bright,
Upon the silver light,
Chasing fair figures with the artist, Thought!


II.

What art thou like? - Sometimes I see thee ride
A far-bound galley on its perilous way,
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray; -
Sometimes behold thee glide,
Cluster'd by all thy family of stars,
Like a lone widow, through the welkin wide,<...

Thomas Hood

The Young May Moon.

The young May moon is beaming, love,
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love,
    How sweet to rove
    Through Morna's grove,
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake!--the heavens look bright, my dear,
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear,
    And the best of all ways
    To lengthen our days,
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

Now all the world is sleeping, love,
But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love,
    And I, whose star,
    More glorious far,
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake!--till rise of sun, my dear,
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,
    Or, in watching the flight
    Of bodies of light,
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear.

Thomas Moore

While Gazing On The Moon's Light.

While gazing on the moon's light,
    A moment from her smile I turned,
To look at orbs, that, more bright,
    In lone and distant glory burned.
                But too far
                Each proud star,
    For me to feel its warming flame;
                Much more dear
                That mild sphere.
    Which near our planet smiling came;
Thus, Mary, be but thou my own;
    While brighter eyes unheeded play,
I'll love those moonlight looks alone,
    That bless my home and guide my way.

The day had sunk in dim showers,
    But midnight now, with lustre meet.
Illumined all the pale flowers,
    Like hope upon a mourner's cheek.
                I said (while
                The moon's smile
    Played o'er a stream, in d...

Thomas Moore

To Lord Viscount Strangford.

ABOARD THE PHAETON FRIGATE, OFF THE AZORES, BY MOONLIGHT.


Sweet Moon! if, like Crotona's sage,^[1]
    By any spell my hand could dare
To make thy disk its ample page,
    And write my thoughts, my wishes there;
How many a friend, whose careless eye
Now wanders o'er that starry sky,
Should smile, upon thy orb to meet
The recollection, kind and sweet,
The reveries of fond regret,
The promise, never to forget,
And all my heart and soul would send
To many a dear-loved, distant friend.

How little, when we parted last,
I thought those pleasant times were past,
For ever past, when brilliant joy
Was all my vacant heart's employ:
When, fresh from mirth to mirth again,
    We thought the rapid hours too few;
Our only use for k...

Thomas Moore