Do Not Say That Life Is Waning.

Do not say that life is waning,
    Or that hope's sweet day is set;
While I've thee and love remaining,
    Life is in the horizon yet.

Do not think those charms are flying,
    Tho' thy roses fade and fall;
Beauty hath a grace undying,
    Which in thee survives them all.

Not for charms, the newest, brightest,
    That on other cheeks may shine,
Would I change the least, the slightest.
    That is lingering now o'er thine.

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 New Costume Of The Ministers.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

She Is Far From The Land.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

If Thou Wouldst Have Me Sing And Play.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Bright Moon.

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.

Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
    Which I gaze on so fondly today,
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.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
    And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
    To which time will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
    But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,
    The same look which she turned when he rose.

Thomas Moore

To-Day, Dearest! Is Ours.

To-day, dearest! is ours;
    Why should Love carelessly lose it?
This life shines or lowers
    Just as we, weak mortals, use it.
'Tis time enough, when its flowers decay,
    To think of the thorns of Sorrow
And Joy, if left on the stem to-day,
    May wither before to-morrow.

Then why, dearest! so long
    Let the sweet moments fly over?
Tho' now, blooming and young
    Thou hast me devoutly thy lover;
Yet Time from both, in his silent lapse,
    Some treasure may steal or borrow;
Thy charms may be less in bloom, perhaps,
    Or I less in love to-morrow.

Thomas Moore

Bring The Bright Garlands Hither.

Bring the bright garlands hither,
    Ere yet a leaf is dying;
If so soon they must wither.
    Ours be their last sweet sighing.
Hark, that low dismal chime!
'Tis the dreary voice of Time.
Oh, bring beauty, bring roses,
    Bring all that yet is ours;
Let life's day, as it closes,
    Shine to the last thro' flowers.

Haste, ere the bowl's declining,
    Drink of it now or never;
Now, while Beauty is shining,
    Love, or she's lost for ever.
Hark! again that dull chime,
'Tis the dreary voice of Time.
Oh, if life be a torrent,
    Down to oblivion going,
Like this cup be its current,
    Bright to the last drop flowing!

Thomas Moore

Fear Not That, While Around Thee.

Fear not that, while around thee
    Life's varied blessings pour,
One sigh of hers shall wound thee,
    Whose smile thou seek'st no more.
No, dead and cold for ever
    Let our past love remain;
Once gone, its spirit never
    Shall haunt thy rest again.

May the new ties that bind thee
    Far sweeter, happier prove,
Nor e'er of me remind thee,
    But by their truth and love.
Think how, asleep or waking,
    Thy image haunts me yet;
But, how this heart is breaking
    For thy own peace forget.

Thomas Moore

Love's Young Dream.

Oh! the days are gone, when Beauty bright
        My heart's chain wove;
When my dream of life, from morn till night,
        Was love, still love.
        New hope may bloom,
        And days may come,

    Of milder, calmer beam,
But there's nothing half so sweet in life
    As love's young dream;
No, there's nothing half so sweet in life
    As love's young dream.

Tho' the bard to purer fame may soar,
            When wild youth's past;
Tho' he win the wise, who frowned before,
            To smile at last;
            He'll never meet
            A joy so sweet,
    In all his noon of fame,
As when first he sung to woman's ear
    His soul-felt flame,
And, at every close, she blushed to hear
    The one lov'd name.
...

Thomas Moore

I Saw From The Beach.

I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,
    A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on;
I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining,
    The bark was still there, but the waters were gone.

And such is the fate of our life's early promise,
    So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known;
Each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs from us,
    And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone.

Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning
    The close of our day, the calm eve of our night;--
Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of Morning,
    Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best light.

Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning,
    When passion first waked a new life thro' his frame,
And his soul, like ...

Thomas Moore