I Saw The Moon Rise Clear. A Finland Love Song.

I saw the moon rise clear
    O'er hills and vales of snow
Nor told my fleet reindeer
    The track I wished to go.
Yet quick he bounded forth;
    For well my reindeer knew
I've but one path on earth--
    The path which leads to you.

The gloom that winter cast,
    How soon the heart forgets,
When summer brings, at last,
    Her sun that never sets!
So dawned my love for you;
    So, fixt thro' joy and pain,
Than summer sun more true,
    'Twill never set again.

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 Parting Before The Battle.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Twas One Of Those Dreams.[1]

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Fudge Family In Paris Letter VI. From Phil. Fudge, Esq., To His Brother Tim Fudge, Esq., Barrister At Law.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Twopenny Post-Bag, Intercepted Letters, Etc. Letter I.

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.

Nights Of Music.

Nights of music, nights of loving,
    Lost too soon, remembered long.
When we went by moonlight roving,
    Hearts all love and lips all song.
When this faithful lute recorded
    All my spirit felt to thee;
And that smile the song rewarded--
    Worth Whole years of fame to me!

Nights of song, and nights of splendor,
Filled with joys too sweet to last--
Joys that, like the star-light, tender,
While they shore no shadow cast.
Tho' all other happy hours
    From my fading memory fly,
Of, that starlight, of those bowers,
    Not a beam, a leaf may die!

Thomas Moore

When Twilight Dews.

When twilight dews are falling soft
    Upon the rosy sea, love,
I watch the star, whose beam so oft
    Has lighted me to thee, love.
And thou too, on that orb so dear,
    Dost often gaze at even,
And think, tho' lost for ever here,
    Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven.

There's not a garden walk I tread,
    There's not a flower I see, love,
But brings to mind some hope that's fled,
    Some joy that's gone with thee, Love.
And still I wish that hour was near,
    When, friends and foes forgiven,
The pains, the ills we've wept thro' here
    May turn to smiles in heaven.

Thomas Moore

When To Sad Music Silent You Listen.

When to sad Music silent you listen,
    And tears on those eyelids tremble like dew,
Oh, then there dwells in those eyes as they glisten
    A sweet holy charm that mirth never knew.
But when some lively strain resounding
    Lights up the sunshine of joy on that brow,
Then the young reindeer o'er the hills bounding
    Was ne'er in its mirth so graceful as thou.

When on the skies at midnight thou gazest.
    A lustre so pure thy features then wear,
That, when to some star that bright eye thou raisest,
    We feel 'tis thy home thou'rt looking for there.
But when the word for the gay dance is given,
    So buoyant thy spirit, so heartfelt thy mirth,
Oh then we exclaim, "Ne'er leave earth for heaven,
    "But linger still here, to make heaven of earth."

Thomas Moore

She Is Far From The Land.

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
    And lovers are round her, sighing:
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
    For her heart in his grave is lying.

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
    Every note which he loved awaking;--
Ah! little they think who delight in her strains,
    How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking.

He had lived for his love, for his country he died,
    They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
    Nor long will his love stay behind him.

Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,
    When they promise a glorious morrow;
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West,
    From her own loved island of sorrow.

Thomas Moore

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

Rhymes On The Road. Extract X. Mantua.

Verses of Hippolyta to her Husband.


They tell me thou'rt the favored guest
    Of every fair and brilliant throng;
No wit like thine to wake the jest,
    No voice like thine to breathe the song.
And none could guess, so gay thou art,
That thou and I are far apart.
Alas, alas! how different flows,
    With thee and me the time away!
Not that I wish thee sad, heaven knows--
    Still if thou canst, be light and gay;
I only know that without thee
The sun himself is dark for me.

Do I put on the jewels rare
Thou'st always loved to see me wear?
Do I perfume the locks that thou
So oft hast braided o'er my brow,
Thus deckt thro' festive crowds to run,
    And all the assembled world to see,--
All but the one, the absent one,

Thomas Moore