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 have ever been my own?

Oh! trust me, when I swear thee this,
    Dearest! the pain of loving thee,
The very pain is sweeter bliss
    Than passion's wildest ecstasy.

That little cage I would hot part,
    In which my soul is prisoned now,
For the most light and winged heart
    That wantons on the passing vow.

Still, my beloved! still keep in mind,
    However far removed from me,
That there is one thou leavest behind,
    Whose heart respires for only thee!

And though ungenial ties have bound
    Thy fate unto another's care,
That arm, which clasps thy bosom round,
    Cannot confine the heart that's there.

No, no! that heart is only mine
    By ties all other ties above,
For I have wed it at a shrine
    Where we have had no priest but 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

If Thou'lt Be Mine.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Exile.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Oh, Arranmore, Loved Arranmore.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Ring[1] A Tale

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 .... ....

And hast thou marked the pensive shade,
    That many a time obscures my brow,
Midst all the joys, beloved maid.
    Which thou canst give, and only thou?

Oh! 'tis not that I then forget
    The bright looks that before me shine;
For never throbbed a bosom yet
    Could feel their witchery, like mine.

When bashful on my bosom hid,
    And blushing to have felt so blest,
Thou dost but lift thy languid lid
    Again to close it on my breast;--

Yes,--these are minutes all thine own,
    Thine own to give, and mine to feel;
Yet even in them, my heart has known
    The sigh to rise, the tear to steal.

For I have thought of former hours,
    When he who first thy soul possest,
Like me awaked its witching powers,
    Like me was...

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

When He, Who Adores Thee.

When he, who adores thee, has left but the name
    Of his fault and his sorrows behind,
Oh! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame
    Of a life that for thee was resigned?
Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn,
    Thy tears shall efface their decree;
For Heaven can witness, tho' guilty to them,
    I have been but too faithful to thee.

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love;
    Every thought of my reason was thine;
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above,
    Thy name shall be mingled with mine.
Oh! blest are the lovers and friend who shall live
    The days of thy glory to see;
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give
    Is the pride of thus dying for thee.

Thomas Moore

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

Here, Take My Heart.

Here, take my heart--'twill be safe in thy keeping,
    While I go wandering o'er land and o'er sea;
Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleeping,
    What need I care, so my heart is with thee?

If in the race we are destined to run, love,
    They who have light hearts the happiest be,
Then happier still must be they who have none, love.
    And that will be my case when mine is with thee.

It matters not where I may now be a rover,
    I care not how many bright eyes I may see;
Should Venus herself come and ask me to love her,
    I'd tell her I couldn't--my heart is with thee.

And there let it lie, growing fonder and, fonder--
    For, even should Fortune turn truant to me,
Why, let her go--I've a treasure beyond her,
    As long as my heart'...

Thomas Moore

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