Love And The Sun-Dial.

Young Love found a Dial once in a dark shade
Where man ne'er had wandered nor sunbeam played;
"Why thus in darkness lie?" whispered young Love,
"Thou, whose gay hours in sunshine should move."
"I ne'er," said the Dial, "have seen the warm sun,
"So noonday and midnight to me, Love, are one."

Then Love took the Dial away from the shade,
And placed her where Heaven's beam warmly played.
There she reclined, beneath Love's gazing eye,
While, marked all with sunshine, her hours flew by.
"Oh, how," said the Dial, "can any fair maid
"That's born to be shone upon rest in the shade?"

But night now comes on and the sunbeam's o'er,
And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no more.
Alone and neglected, while bleak rain and winds
Are storming around her, with sorrow she finds
That Love had but numbered a few sunny hours,--
Then left the remainder to darkness and showers!

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

Oh The Shamrock.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Sinking Fund Cried.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Mad Tory And The Comet.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Day Of Love.

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.

The Day Of Love.

    The beam of morning trembling
        Stole o'er the mountain brook,
    With timid ray resembling
        Affection's early look.
Thus love begins--sweet morn of love!

    The noon-tide ray ascended,
        And o'er the valley's stream
    Diffused a glow as splendid
        As passion's riper dream.
Thus love expands--warm noon of love!

    But evening came, o'ershading
        The glories of the sky,
    Like faith and fondness fading
        From passion's altered eye.
Thus love declines--cold eve of love!

Thomas Moore

Love And Reason.

        Quand l'homme commence à raissonner,
        il cesse de sentir.--J. J. ROUSSEAU.


'Twas in the summer time so sweet,
    When hearts and flowers are both in season,
That--who, of all the world, should meet,
    One early dawn, but Love and Reason!

Love told his dream of yesternight,
    While Reason talked about the weather;
The morn, in sooth, was fair and bright,
    And on they took their way together.

The boy in many a gambol flew,
    While Reason, like a Juno, stalked,
And from her portly figure threw
    A lengthened shadow, as she walked.

No wonder Love, as on they past,
    Should find that sunny morning chill,
For still the shadow Reason cast
Fell o'er the boy, and cooled him still.

In vain...

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

In The Morning Of Life.

In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown,
    And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin,
When we live in a bright-beaming world of our own,
    And the light that surrounds us is all from within;
Oh 'tis not, believe me, in that happy time
    We can love, as in hours of less transport we may;--
Of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay sunny prime,
    But affection is truest when these fade away.

When we see the first glory of youth pass us by,
    Like a leaf on the stream that will never return;
When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high,
    First tastes of the other, the dark-flowing urn;
Then, then is the time when affection holds sway
    With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew;
Love, nursed among pleasures, is faith...

Thomas Moore

She Sung Of Love.

She sung of Love, while o'er her lyre
    The rosy rays of evening fell,
As if to feed with their soft fire
    The soul within that trembling shell.
The same rich light hung o'er her cheek,
    And played around those lips that sung
And spoke, as flowers would sing and speak,
    If Love could lend their leaves a tongue.

But soon the West no longer burned,
    Each rosy ray from heaven withdrew;
And, when to gaze again I turned,
    The minstrel's form seemed fading too.
As if her light and heaven's were one,
    The glory all had left that frame;
And from her glimmering lips the tone,
    As from a parting spirit, came.

Who ever loved, but had the thought
    That he and all he loved must part?
Filled with this fear, I flew and c...

Thomas Moore

A Sunset.

"Oh come," said I unto my love,
"And let us view the setting sun,
And watch the fleeting clouds above,
So brightly color'd, ev'ry one."

Thus lightly to my love, I spake,
And she responded lightly, too,
And by my side her place did take,
Her young heart gladden'd by the view.

I walk'd along, she tripp'd beside,
Short was the time, until we stood
Above the rolling, glassy tide -
Above old Huron's mighty flood.

"Oh, see," said I, "the glorious sight,
Now spread before our favor'd gaze -
The clouds all flame, the sea all light,
The sun, one grand, terrific blaze."

E'en such a time, and such a scene
Could not love's gentle pow'r dispel.
I saw my love's grave, thoughtful mien,
I turn'd and said: "your thoughts pray tell."
...

Thomas Frederick Young