Remember Thee.

Remember thee? yes, while there's life in this heart,
It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art;
More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers,
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours.

Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and free,
First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea,
I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow,
But oh! could I love thee more deeply than now?

No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs,
But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons--
Whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird's nest,
Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast.

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

My Harp Has One Unchanging Theme. (Swedish Air.)

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Announcement Of A New Grand Acceleration Company For The Promotion Of The Speed Of Literature.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Fables For The Holy Alliance. Fable Vii. The Extinguishers.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

To The Marchioness Dowager Of Donegall.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

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Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Go Where Glory Waits Thee.

Go where glory waits thee,
But while fame elates thee,
    Oh! still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest
To thine ear is sweetest,
    Oh! then remember me.
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee,
    Sweeter far may be;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,
    Oh! then remember me!

When, at eve, thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,
    Oh! then remember me.
Think, when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning,
    Oh! thus remember me.
Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its lingering roses,
    Once so loved by thee,
Think of her who wove them,
Her who made thee love them,
    Oh! then, remember me.

When, around...

Thomas Moore

To ......., 1801.

To be the theme of every hour
The heart devotes to Fancy's power,
When her prompt magic fills the mind
With friends and joys we've left behind,
And joys return and friends are near,
And all are welcomed with a tear:--
In the mind's purest seat to dwell,
To be remembered oft and well
By one whose heart, though vain and wild,
By passion led, by youth beguiled,
Can proudly still aspire to be
All that may yet win smiles from thee:--
If thus to live in every part
Of a lone, weary wanderer's heart;
If thus to be its sole employ
Can give thee one faint gleam of joy,
Believe it. Mary,--oh! believe
A tongue that never can deceive,
Though, erring, it too oft betray
Even more than Love should dare to say,--
In Pleasure's dream or Sorrow's hour,
I...

Thomas Moore

To .......

Remember him thou leavest behind,
    Whose heart is warmly bound to thee,
Close as the tenderest links can bind
    A heart as warm as heart can be.

Oh! I had long in freedom roved,
    Though many seemed my soul to snare;
'Twas passion when I thought I loved,
    'Twas fancy when I thought them fair.

Even she, my muse's early theme,
    Beguiled me only while she warmed;
Twas young desire that fed the dream,
    And reason broke what passion formed.

But thou-ah! better had it been
    If I had still in freedom roved,
If I had ne'er thy beauties seen,
    For then I never should have loved.

Then all the pain which lovers feel
    Had never to this heart been known;
But then, the joys that lovers steal,
    Should they...

Thomas Moore

Her Last Words, At Parting.
Her last words, at parting, how can I forget?
Deep treasured thro' life, in my heart they shall stay;
Like music, whose charm in the soul lingers yet,
When its sounds from the ear have long melted away.
Let Fortune assail me, her threatenings are vain;
Those still-breathing words shall my talisman be,--
"Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain,
"There's one heart, unchanging, that beats but for thee."

From the desert's sweet well tho' the pilgrim must hie,
Never more of that fresh-springing fountain to taste,
He hath still of its bright drops a treasured supply,
Whose sweetness lends life to his lips thro' the waste.
So, dark as my fate is still doomed to remain,
These words shall my well in the wilderness be,--
"Remember, in a...
Thomas Moore

Thee, Thee, Only Thee.
The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking,
The night's long hours still find me thinking
Of thee, thee, only thee.
When friends are met, and goblets crowned,
And smiles are near, that once enchanted,
Unreached by all that sunshine round,
My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted
By thee, thee, only thee.

Whatever in fame's high path could waken
My spirit once, is now forsaken
For thee, thee, only thee.
Like shores, by which some headlong bark
To the ocean hurries, resting never,
Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark,
I know not, heed not, hastening ever
To thee, thee, only thee.

I have not a joy but of thy bringing,
And pain itself seems sweet when springing
From thee, thee, only t...
Thomas Moore

O Say, Thou Best And Brightest.
O say, thou best and brightest,
My first love and my last.
When he, whom now thou slightest,
From life's dark scene hath past,
Will kinder thoughts then move thee?
Will pity wake one thrill
For him who lived to love thee,
And dying loved thee still?

If when, that hour recalling
From which he dates his woes,
Thou feel'st a tear-drop falling,
Ah, blush not while it flows;
But, all the past forgiving,
Bend gently o'er his shrine,
And say, "This heart, when living,
"With all its faults, was mine."
Thomas Moore