Hope Comes Again.

Hope comes again, to this heart long a stranger,
    Once more she sings me her flattering strain;
But hush, gentle syren--for, ah, there's less danger
    In still suffering on, than in hoping again.

Long, long, in sorrow, too deep for repining,
    Gloomy, but tranquil, this bosom hath lain:
And joy coming now, like a sudden light shining
    O'er eyelids long darkened, would bring me but pain.

Fly then, ye visions, that Hope would shed o'er me;
    Lost to the future, my sole chance of rest
Now lies not in dreaming of bliss that's before me.
    But, ah--in forgetting how once I was blest.

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 Was A Child (Swedish Air.)

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Were Not The Sinful Mary's Tears. (Air.--Stevenson.)

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XLIX.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

St. Jerome On Earth.

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.

I'd Mourn The Hopes.

I'd mourn the hopes that leave me,
    If thy smiles had left me too;
I'd weep when friends deceive me,
    If thou wert, like them, untrue.
But while I've thee before me,
    With heart so warm and eyes so bright,
No clouds can linger o'er me,
    That smile turns them all to light.

'Tis not in fate to harm me,
    While fate leaves thy love to me;
'Tis not in joy to charm me,
    Unless joy be shared with thee.
One minute's dream about thee
    Were worth a long, an endless year
Of waking bliss without thee,
    My own love, my only dear!

And tho' the hope be gone, love,
    That long sparkled o'er our way,
Oh! we shall journey on, love,
    More safely, without its ray.
Far better lights shall win me
    Along the path I...

Thomas Moore

How Happy, Once.

How happy, once, tho' winged with sighs,
    My moments flew along,
While looking on those smiling eyes,
    And listening to thy magic song!
But vanished now, like summer dreams,
    Those moments smile no more;
For me that eye no longer beams,
    That song for me is o'er.
Mine the cold brow,
    That speaks thy altered vow,
While others feel thy sunshine now.

Oh, could I change my love like thee,
    One hope might yet be mine--
Some other eyes as bright to see,
    And hear a voice as sweet as thine:
But never, never can this heart
    Be waked to life again;
With thee it lost its vital part,
    And withered then!
Cold its pulse lies,
And mute are even its sighs,
All other grief it now defies.

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

Love And Hope. (Swiss Air.)

At morn, beside yon summer sea,
    Young Hope and Love reclined;
But scarce had noon-tide come, when he
Into his bark leapt smilingly,
    And left poor Hope behind.

"I go," said Love, "to sail awhile
    "Across this sunny main;"
And then so sweet, his parting smile,
That Hope, who never dreamt of guile,
    Believed he'd come again.

She lingered there till evening's beam
    Along the waters lay;
And o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream,
Oft traced his name, which still the stream
    As often washed away.

At length a sail appears in sight,
    And toward the maiden moves!
'Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and bright,
His golden bark reflects the light,
    But ah! it is not Love's.

Another sail--'twas Friendship sho...

Thomas Moore

Song.

Where is the heart that would not give
    Years of drowsy days and nights,
One little hour, like this, to live--
    Full, to the brim, of life's delights?
        Look, look around,
        This fairy ground,
    With love-lights glittering o'er;
        While cups that shine
        With freight divine
    Go coasting round its shore.

Hope is the dupe of future hours,
    Memory lives in those gone by;
Neither can see the moment's flowers
    Springing up fresh beneath the eye,
        Wouldst thou, or thou,
        Forego what's now,
    For all that Hope may say?
        No--Joy's reply,
        From every eye,
    Is, "Live we while we may,"

Thomas Moore

Has Sorrow Thy Young Days Shaded.

Has sorrow thy young days shaded,
    As clouds o'er the morning fleet?
Too fast have those young days faded,
    That, even in sorrow, were sweet?
Does Time with his cold wing wither
    Each feeling that once was dear?--
Then, child of misfortune, come hither,
    I'll weep with thee, tear for tear.

Has love to that soul, so tender,
    Been like our Lagenian mine,^[1]
Where sparkles of golden splendor
    All over the surface shine--
But, if in pursuit we go deeper,
    Allured by the gleam that shone,
Ah! false as the dream of the sleeper,
    Like Love, the bright ore is gone.

Has Hope, like the bird in the story,^[2]
    That flitted from tree to tree
With the talisman's glittering glory--
    Has Hope been ...

Thomas Moore