Let's Take This World As Some Wide Scene.

Let's take this world as some wide scene.
    Thro' which in frail but buoyant boat,
With skies now dark and now serene,
    Together thou and I must float;
Beholding oft on either shore
    Bright spots where we should love to stay;
But Time plies swift his flying oar,
    And away we speed, away, away.

Should chilling winds and rains come on,
    We'll raise our awning 'gainst the shower;
Sit closer till the storm is gone,
    And, smiling, wait a sunnier hour.
And if that sunnier hour should shine,
    We'll know its brightness cannot stay,
But happy while 'tis thine and mine,

    Complain not when it fades away.
So shall we reach at last that Fall
    Down which life's currents all must go,--
The dark, the brilliant, destined all
    To sink into the void below.
Nor even that hour shall want its charms,
    If, side by side, still fond we keep,
And calmly, in each other's arms
    Together linked, go down the steep.

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

There's Something Strange. A Buffalo Song.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Sing, Sweet Harp.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

When To Sad Music Silent You Listen.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Behold The Sun. (Air.--Lord Mornington.)

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.

As Slow Our Ship.

As slow our ship her foamy track
    Against the wind was cleaving,
Her trembling pennant still looked back
    To that dear isle 'twas leaving.
So loathe we part from all we love.
    From all the links that bind us;
So turn our hearts as on we rove,
    To those we've left behind us.

When, round the bowl, of vanished years
    We talk, with joyous seeming,--
With smiles that might as well be tears,
    So faint, so sad their beaming;
While memory brings us back again
    Each early tie that twined us,
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then
    To those we've left behind us.

And when, in other climes, we meet
    Some isle, or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet,
    And naught but love is wanting;
We think...

Thomas Moore

Oh, Could We Do With This World Of Ours.

Oh, could we do with this world of ours
As thou dost with thy garden bowers,
Reject the weeds and keep the flowers,
    What a heaven on earth we'd make it!
So bright a dwelling should be our own,
So warranted free from sigh or frown,
That angels soon would be coming down,
    By the week or month to take it.

Like those gay flies that wing thro' air,
And in themselves a lustre bear,
A stock of light, still ready there,
    Whenever they wish to use it;
So, in this world I'd make for thee,
Our hearts should all like fire-flies be,
And the flash of wit or poesy
    Break forth whenever we choose it.

While every joy that glads our sphere
Hath still some shadow hovering near,
In this new world of ours, my dear,
    Such shadows will all ...

Thomas Moore

Stanzas.

A beam of tranquillity smiled in the west,
The storms of the morning pursued us no more;
And the wave, while it welcomed the moment of rest.
Still heaved, as remembering ills that were o'er.

Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour,
    Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead;
And the spirit becalmed but remembered their power,
    As the billow the force of the gale that was fled.

I thought of those days, when to pleasure alone
    My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh;
When the saddest emotion my bosom had known,
    Was pity for those who were wiser than I.

I reflected, how soon in the cup of Desire
    The pearl of the soul may be melted away;
How quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of fire
    We inherit from heaven, may be quenched ...

Thomas Moore

And Doth Not A Meeting Like This.

And doth not a meeting like this make amends,
    For all the long years I've been wandering away--
To see thus around me my youth's early friends,
    As smiling and kind as in that happy day?
Tho' haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine,
    The snow-fall of time may be stealing--what then?
Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine,
    We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again.

What softened remembrances come o'er the heart,
    In gazing on those we've been lost to so long!
The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part,
    Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng,
As letters some hand hath invisibly traced,
    When held to the flame will steal out on the sight,
So many a feeling, that long seemed effaced,
    The warmth of...

Thomas Moore

One Bumper At Parting.

One bumper at parting!--tho' many
    Have circled the board since we met,
The fullest, the saddest of any
    Remains to be crowned by us yet.
The sweetness that pleasure hath in it,
    Is always so slow to come forth,
That seldom, alas, till the minute
    It dies, do we know half its worth.
But come,--may our life's happy measure
    Be all of such moments made up;
They're born on the bosom of Pleasure,
    They die midst the tears of the cup.

'Tis onward we journey, how pleasant
    To pause and inhabit awhile
Those few sunny spots, like the present,
    That mid the dull wilderness smile!
But Time, like a pitiless master,
    Cries "Onward!" and spurs the gay hours--
Ah, never doth Time travel faster,
    Than when his way lies among...

Thomas Moore

Lines Written In A Storm At Sea.

That sky of clouds is not the sky
To light a lover to the pillow
        Of her he loves--
The swell of yonder foaming billow
Resembles not the happy sigh
        That rapture moves.

Yet do I feel more tranquil far
Amid the gloomy wilds of ocean,
        In this dark hour,
Than when, in passion's young emotion,
I've stolen, beneath the evening star,
        To Julia's bower.

Oh! there's a holy calm profound
In awe like this, that ne'er was given
        To pleasure's thrill;
'Tis as a solemn voice from heaven,
And the soul, listening to the sound,
        Lies mute and still.

'Tis true, it talks of danger nigh,
Of slumbering with the dead tomorrow
        In the cold deep,
Where pleasure's throb or tears of sorrow

Thomas Moore