The Meeting Of The Waters.[1]

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;^[2]
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green;
'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill,
Oh! no,--it was something more exquisite still.

'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near,
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear,
And who felt how the best charms of nature improve,
When we see them reflected from looks that we love.

Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best.
Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease,
And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.

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

To Miss ....... On Her Asking The Author Why She Had Sleepless Nights.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Song Of O'Ruark, Prince Of Breffni.[1]

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LXIX.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Shine Out, Stars!

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.

To Joseph Atkinson, Esq.

FROM BERMUDA.^[1]


"The daylight is gone--but, before we depart,
"One cup shall go round to the friend of my heart,
"The kindest, the dearest--oh! judge by the tear
"I now shed while I name him, how kind and how dear."

    'Twas thus in the shade of the Calabash-Tree,
With a few, who could feel and remember like me,
The charm that, to sweeten my goblet, I threw
Was a sigh to the past and a blessing on you.

    Oh! say, is it thus, in the mirth-bringing hour,
When friends are assembled, when wit, in full flower,
Shoots forth from the lip, under Bacchus's dew,
In blossoms of thought ever springing and new--
Do you sometimes remember, and hallow the brim
Of your cup with a sigh, as you crown it to him
Who is lonely and sad in these val...

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

So Warmly We Met. (Hungarian Air.)

So warmly we met and so fondly we parted,
    That which was the sweeter even I could not tell,--
That first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted,
    Or that tear of passion, which blest our farewell.
To meet was a heaven and to part thus another,--
    Our joy and our sorrow seemed rivals in bliss;
Oh! Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other
    In smiles and in tears than that moment to this.

The first was like day-break, new, sudden, delicious,--
    The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet;
The last like the farewell of daylight, more precious,
    More glowing and deep, as 'tis nearer its set.
Our meeting, tho' happy, was tinged by a sorrow
    To think that such happiness could not remain;
While our parting, tho' sad, gave a hope that to-morrow
...

Thomas Moore

Rhymes On The Road. Extract XII. Florence.

Music in Italy.--Disappointed by it.--Recollections or other Times and Friends.--Dalton.--Sir John Stevenson.--His Daughter.--Musical Evenings together.


If it be true that Music reigns,
    Supreme, in ITALY'S soft shades,
'Tis like that Harmony so famous,
Among the spheres, which He of SAMOS
Declared had such transcendent merit
That not a soul on earth could hear it;
For, far as I have come--from Lakes,
Whose sleep the Tramontana breaks,
Thro' MILAN and that land which gave
The Hero of the rainbow vest^[1]--
By MINCIO'S banks, and by that wave,
Which made VERONA'S bard so blest--
Places that (like the Attic shore,
Which rung back music when the sea
Struck on its marge) should be all o'er
Thrilling alive with melody--
I've hea...

Thomas Moore

I Saw From The Beach.

I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,
    A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on;
I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining,
    The bark was still there, but the waters were gone.

And such is the fate of our life's early promise,
    So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known;
Each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs from us,
    And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone.

Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning
    The close of our day, the calm eve of our night;--
Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of Morning,
    Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best light.

Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning,
    When passion first waked a new life thro' his frame,
And his soul, like ...

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