To .... ....

        Maria pur quando vuol, non è bisogna mutar ni faccia ni voce per esser un Angelo.^[1]


Die when you will, you need not wear
At Heaven's Court a form more fair
    Than Beauty here on earth has given;
Keep but the lovely looks we see--
The voice we hear--and you will be
    An angel ready-made for Heaven!

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

Song.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Lines On The Death Of Sheridan.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXV.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

How Dear To Me The Hour.

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.

Heaven-Born Beauty. First Reading.

Per ritornar là.


As one who will reseek her home of light,
        Thy form immortal to this prison-house
        Descended, like an angel piteous,
        To heal all hearts and make the whole world bright.
'Tis this that thralls my soul in love's delight,
        Not thy clear face of beauty glorious;
        For he who harbours virtue, still will choose
        To love what neither years nor death can blight.
So fares it ever with things high and rare
        Wrought in the sweat of nature; heaven above
        Showers on their birth the blessings of her prime:
Nor hath God deigned to show Himself elsewhere
        More clearly than in human forms sublime;
        Which, since they image Him, alone I love.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

When The Wine-Cup Is Smiling. (Italian Air.)

When the wine-cup is smiling before us,
    And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy, true,
Then the sky of this life opens o'er us,
    And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue.
Talk of Adam in Eden reclining,
    We are better, far better off thus, boy, thus;
For him but two bright eyes were shining--
    See, what numbers are sparkling for us!

When on one side the grape-juice is dancing,
    While on t'other a blue eye beams, boy, beams,
'Tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the glancing,
    To disturb even a saint from his dreams.
Yet, tho' life like a river is flowing,
    I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on,
So the grape on its bank is still growing,
    And Love lights the waves as they run.

Thomas Moore

To A Lady. On Her Singing.

Thy song has taught my heart to feel
    Those soothing thoughts of heavenly love,
Which o'er the sainted spirits steal
    When listening to the spheres above!

When, tired of life and misery,
    I wish to sigh my latest breath,
Oh, Emma! I will fly to thee,
    And thou shalt sing me into death.

And if along thy lip and cheek
    That smile of heavenly softness play,
Which,--ah! forgive a mind that's weak,--
    So oft has stolen my mind away.

Thou'lt seem an angel of the sky,
    That comes to charm me into bliss:
I'll gaze and die--Who would not die,
    If death were half so sweet as this?

Thomas Moore

The Resemblance.

        ---- vo cercand' io,
        Donna quant' e possibile in altrui
        La desiata vostra forma vera.
                    PETRARC, Sonett. 14.


Yes, if 'twere any common love,
    That led my pliant heart astray,
I grant, there's not a power above
    Could wipe the faithless crime away.

But 'twas my doom to err with one
    In every look so like to thee
That, underneath yon blessed sun
    So fair there are but thou and she

Both born of beauty, at a birth,
    She held with thine a kindred sway,
And wore the only shape on earth
    That could have lured my soul to stray.

Then blame me not, if false I be,
    'Twas love that waked the fond excess;
My heart had been more true to thee,
    Had min...

Thomas Moore

Heaven-Born Beauty. Second Reading.

Venne, non so ben donde.


It came, I know not whence, from far above,
        That clear immortal flame that still doth rise
        Within thy sacred breast, and fills the skies,
        And heals all hearts, and adds to heaven new love.
This burns me, this, and the pure light thereof;
        Not thy fair face, thy sweet untroubled eyes:
        For love that is not love for aught that dies,
        Dwells in the soul where no base passions move.
If then such loveliness upon its own
        Should graft new beauties in a mortal birth,
        The sheath bespeaks the shining blade within.
To gain our love God hath not clearer shown
        Himself elsewhere: thus heaven doth vie with earth
        To make thee worthy worship without sin.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

To Caroline, Viscountess Valletort.

WRITTEN AT LACOCK ABBEY, JANUARY, 1832.


When I would sing thy beauty's light,
Such various forms, and all so bright,
I've seen thee, from thy childhood, wear,
I know not which to call most fair,
Nor 'mong the countless charms that spring
For ever round thee, which to sing.

    When I would paint thee as thou art,
Then all thou wert comes o'er my heart--
The graceful child in Beauty's dawn
Within the nursery's shade withdrawn,
Or peeping out--like a young moon
Upon a world 'twill brighten soon.
Then next in girlhood's blushing hour,
As from thy own loved Abbey-tower
I've seen thee look, all radiant, down,
With smiles that to the hoary frown
Of centuries round thee lent a ray,
Chasing even Age's gloom away;--

Thomas Moore