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

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

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XLII.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Drink To Her.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

My Heart And Lute.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXXIII.

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.

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

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

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

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

Love's Light Summer-Cloud.

Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us--
    Youth may wither, but feeling will last;
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us
    Love's light summer-cloud only shall cast.
        Oh, if to love thee more
        Each hour I number o'er--
        If this a passion be
        Worthy of thee,
Then be happy, for thus I adore thee.
    Charms may wither, but feeling shall last:
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee,
    Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast.
Rest, dear bosom, no sorrows shall pain thee,
    Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal;
Beam, bright eyelid, no weeping shall stain thee,
    Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel.
            Oh, if there be a charm,
            In love, to banish harm--
            If pleas...

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