To Julia.

Mock me no more with Love's beguiling dream,
    A dream, I find, illusory as sweet:
One smile of friendship, nay, of cold esteem,
    Far dearer were than passion's bland deceit!

I've heard you oft eternal truth declare;
    Your heart was only mine, I once believed.
Ah! shall I say that all your vows were air?
    And must I say, my hopes were all deceived?

Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twined
    That all our joys are felt with mutual zeal;
Julia!--'tis pity, pity makes you kind;
    You know I love, and you would seem to feel.

But shall I still go seek within those arms
    A joy in which affection takes no part?
No, no, farewell! you give me but your charms,
    When I had fondly thought you gave your heart.

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

The Insurrection Of The Papers. A Dream.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Silence Is In Our Festal Halls.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

St. Senanus And The Lady.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXXI.

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 Julia.

Though Fate, my girl, may bid us part,
    Our souls it cannot, shall not sever;
The heart will seek its kindred heart,
    And cling to it as close as ever.

But must we, must we part indeed?
    Is all our dream of rapture over?
And does not Julia's bosom bleed
    To leave so dear, so fond a lover?

Does she, too, mourn?--Perhaps she may;
    Perhaps she mourns our bliss so fleeting;
But why is Julia's eye so gay,
    If Julia's heart like mine is beating?

I oft have loved that sunny glow
    Of gladness in her blue eye beaming--
But can the bosom bleed with woe
    While joy is in the glances beaming?

No, no!--Yet, love, I will not chide;
    Although your heart were fond of roving,
Nor that, nor all the world ...

Thomas Moore

Inconstancy.

And do I then wonder that Julia deceives me,
    When surely there's nothing in nature more common?
She vows to be true, and while vowing she leaves me--
    And could I expect any more from a woman?

Oh, woman! your heart is a pitiful treasure;
    And Mahomet's doctrine was not too severe,
When he held that you were but materials of pleasure,
    And reason and thinking were out of your sphere.

By your heart, when the fond sighing lover can win it,
    He thinks that an age of anxiety's paid;
But, oh, while he's blest, let him die at the minute--
    If he live but a day, he'll be surely betrayed.

Thomas Moore

To Julia Weeping.

Oh! if your tears are given to care,
    If real woe disturbs your peace,
Come to my bosom, weeping fair!
    And I will bid your weeping cease.

But if with Fancy's visioned fears,
    With dreams of woe your bosom thrill;
You look so lovely in your tears,
    That I must bid you drop them still.

Thomas Moore

To Julia.

I saw the peasant's hand unkind
    From yonder oak the ivy sever;
They seemed in very being twined;
    Yet now the oak is fresh as ever!

Not so the widowed ivy shines:
    Torn from its dear and only stay,
In drooping widowhood it pines,
    And scatters all its bloom away.

Thus, Julia, did our hearts entwine,
    Till Fate disturbed their tender ties:
Thus gay indifference blooms in thine,
    While mine, deserted, droops and dies!

Thomas Moore

To .......

Sweet lady, look not thus again:
    Those bright, deluding smiles recall
A maid remember'd now with pain,
    Who was my love, my life, my all!

Oh! while this heart bewildered took
    Sweet poison from her thrilling eye,
Thus would she smile and lisp and look,
    And I would hear and gaze and sigh!

Yes, I did love her--wildly love--
    She was her sex's best deceiver!
And oft she swore she'd never rove--
    And I was destined to believe her!

Then, lady, do not wear the smile
    Of one whose smile could thus betray;
Alas! I think the lovely wile
    Again could steal my heart away.

For, when those spells that charmed my mind
    On lips so pure as thine I see,
I fear the heart which she resigned
    Will err again an...

Thomas Moore

Go, Then--'Tis Vain. (Sicilian Air.)

Go, then--'tis vain to hover
    Thus round a hope that's dead;
At length my dream is over;
    'Twas sweet--'twas false--'tis fled!
Farewell! since naught it moves thee,
    Such truth as mine to see--
Some one, who far less loves thee,
    Perhaps more blest will be.

Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness
    New life around me shed;
Farewell, false heart, whose lightness
    Now leaves me death instead.
Go, now, those charms surrender
    To some new lover's sigh--
One who, tho' far less tender,
    May be more blest than I.

Thomas Moore