Did Not.

'Twas a new feeling--something more
Than we had dared to own before.
    Which then we hid not;
We saw it in each other's eye,
And wished, in every half-breathed sigh,
    To speak, but did not.

She felt my lips' impassioned touch--
'Twas the first time I dared so much,
    And yet she chid not;
But whispered o'er my burning brow,
"Oh! do you doubt I love you now?"
    Sweet soul! I did not.

Warmly I felt her bosom thrill,
I prest it closer, closer still,
    Though gently bid not;
Till--oh! the world hath seldom heard
Of lovers, who so nearly erred,
    And yet, who did not.

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

When Love Is Kind.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

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

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Oh, Ye Dead!

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Fare Thee Well, Thou Lovely One! (Sicilian Air.)

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.

To .... ....

And hast thou marked the pensive shade,
    That many a time obscures my brow,
Midst all the joys, beloved maid.
    Which thou canst give, and only thou?

Oh! 'tis not that I then forget
    The bright looks that before me shine;
For never throbbed a bosom yet
    Could feel their witchery, like mine.

When bashful on my bosom hid,
    And blushing to have felt so blest,
Thou dost but lift thy languid lid
    Again to close it on my breast;--

Yes,--these are minutes all thine own,
    Thine own to give, and mine to feel;
Yet even in them, my heart has known
    The sigh to rise, the tear to steal.

For I have thought of former hours,
    When he who first thy soul possest,
Like me awaked its witching powers,
    Like me was...

Thomas Moore

Song.

Have you not seen the timid tear,
    Steal trembling from mine eye?
Have you not marked the flush of fear,
    Or caught the murmured sigh?
And can you think my love is chill,
    Nor fixt on you alone?
And can you rend, by doubting still,
    A heart so much your own?

To you my soul's affections move,
    Devoutly, warmly true;
My life has been a task of love,
    One long, long thought of you.
If all your tender faith be o'er,
    If still my truth you'll try;
Alas, I know but one proof more--
    I'll bless your name, and die!

Thomas Moore

Odes To Nea; Written At Bermuda.

    ^{[Greek: NEA turannei]}
        EURPID. "Medea," v. 967.


Nay, tempt me not to love again,
    There was a time when love was sweet;
Dear Nea! had I known thee then,
    Our souls had not been slow to meet.
But, oh, this weary heart hath run,
    So many a time, the rounds of pain,
Not even for thee, thou lovely one,
    Would I endure such pangs again.

    If there be climes, where never yet
The print of beauty's foot was set,
Where man may pass his loveless nights,
Unfevered by her false delights,
Thither my wounded soul would fly,
Where rosy cheek or radiant eye
Should bring no more their bliss, or pain,
Nor fetter me to earth again.
Dear absent girl! whose eyes of light,
    Though little prized when all ...

Thomas Moore

Oh, No--Not Even When First We Loved. (Cashmerian Air.)

Oh, no--not even when first we loved,
    Wert thou as dear as now thou art;
Thy beauty then my senses moved,
    But now thy virtues bind my heart.
What was but Passion's sigh before,
    Has since been turned to Reason's vow;
And, though I then might love thee more,
    Trust me, I love thee better now.

Altho' my heart in earlier youth
    Might kindle with more wild desire,
Believe me, it has gained in truth
    Much more than it has lost in fire.
The flame now warms my inmost core,
    That then but sparkled o'er my brow,
And, though I seemed to love thee more,
    Yet, oh, I love thee better now.

Thomas Moore

To .... ....

The world has just begun to steal
    Each hope that led me lightly on;
I felt not, as I used to feel,
    And life grew dark and love was gone.

No eye to mingle sorrow's tear,
    No lip to mingle pleasure's breath,
No circling arms to draw me near--
    'Twas gloomy, and I wished for death.

But when I saw that gentle eye,
    Oh! something seemed to tell me then,
That I was yet too young to die,
    And hope and bliss might bloom again.

With every gentle smile that crost
    Your kindling cheek, you lighted home
Some feeling which my heart had lost
    And peace which far had learned to roam.

'Twas then indeed so sweet to live,
    Hope looked so new and Love so kind.
That, though I mourn, I yet forgive
    The ruin the...

Thomas Moore

Song.

Take back the sigh, thy lips of art
In passion's moment breathed to me;
Yet, no--it must not, will not part,
'Tis now the life-breath of my heart,
And has become too pure for thee.

Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh
    With all the warmth of truth imprest;
Yet, no--the fatal kiss may lie,
Upon thy lip its sweets would die,
    Or bloom to make a rival blest.

Take back the vows that, night and day,
    My heart received, I thought, from thine;
Yet, no--allow them still to stay,
They might some other heart betray,
    As sweetly as they've ruined mine.

Thomas Moore