To Ladies' Eyes.

To Ladies' eyes around, boy,
    We can't refuse, we can't refuse,
Tho' bright eyes so abound, boy,
    'Tis hard to choose, 'tis hard to choose.
For thick as stars that lighten
    Yon airy bowers, yon airy bowers,
The countless eyes that brighten
    This earth of ours, this earth of ours.
But fill the cup--where'er, boy,
    Our choice may fall, our choice may fall,
We're sure to find Love there, boy,
    So drink them all! so drink them all!

Some looks there are so holy,
    They seem but given, they seem but given,
As shining beacons, solely,
    To light to heaven, to light to heaven.
While some--oh! ne'er believe them--
    With tempting ray, with tempting ray,
Would lead us (God forgive them!)
    The other way, the other way.
But fill the cup--where'er, boy,
    Our choice may fall, our choice may fall,
We're sure to find Love there, boy,
    So drink them all! so drink them all!

In some, as in a mirror,
    Love seems portrayed, Love seems portrayed,
But shun the flattering error,
    'Tis but his shade, 'tis but his shade.
Himself has fixt his dwelling
    In eyes we know, in eyes we know,
And lips--but this is telling--
    So here they go! so here they go!
Fill up, fill up--where'er, boy,
    Our choice may fall, our choice may fall,
We're sure to find Love there, boy,
    So drink them all! so drink them all!

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

Love And Reason.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

From The High Priest Of Apollo To A Virgin Of Delphi.[1]

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Resemblance.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Twopenny Post-Bag, Intercepted Letters, Etc. Letter I.

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.

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

Boat Glee.

The song that lightens the languid way,
        When brows are glowing,
        And faint with rowing,
Is like the spell of Hope's airy lay,
To whose sound thro' life we stray;
The beams that flash on the oar awhile,
    As we row along thro' the waves so clear,
Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile
    That shines o'er sorrow's tear.

Nothing is lost on him who sees
    With an eye that feeling gave;--
For him there's a story in every breeze,
    And a picture in every wave.
Then sing to lighten the languid way;
        When brows are glowing,
        And faint with rowing,
'Tis like the spell of Hope's airy lay,
To whose sound thro' life we stray.

            *            *            *            *            *

'Tis sweet...

Thomas Moore

Drink To Her.

Drink to her, who long,
    Hath waked the poet's sigh.
The girl, who gave to song
    What gold could never buy.
Oh! woman's heart was made
    For minstrel hands alone;
By other fingers played,
    It yields not half the tone.
Then here's to her, who long
    Hath waked the poet's sigh,
The girl who gave to song
    What gold could never buy.

At Beauty's door of glass,
    When Wealth and Wit once stood,
They asked her 'which might pass?"
    She answered, "he, who could."
With golden key Wealth thought
    To pass--but 'twould not do:
While Wit a diamond brought,
    Which cut his bright way through.
So here's to her, who long
    Hath waked the poet's sigh,
The girl, who gave to song
    What gold could never...

Thomas Moore

Tis Sweet To Think.

'Tis sweet to think, that, where'er we rove,
    We are sure to find something blissful and dear.
And that, when we're far from the lips we love,
    We've but to make love to the lips, we are near.
The heart, like a tendril, accustomed to cling,
    Let it grow where it will, can not flourish alone,
But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing
    It can twine with itself and make closely its own.

Then oh! what pleasure, where'er we rove,
    To be sure to find something still that is dear,
And to know, when far from the lips we love,
    We've but to make love to the lips we are near.

'Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise.
    To make light of the rest, if the rose isn't there;
And the world's so rich in resplendent eyes,
    'Twere a pity t...

Thomas Moore

Nay, Tell Me Not, Dear.

Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns
    One charm of feeling, one fond regret;
Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns
    Are all I've sunk in its bright wave yet.
        Ne'er hath a beam
        Been lost in the stream
    That ever was shed from thy form or soul;
        The spell of those eyes,
        The balm of thy sighs,
    Still float on the surface, and hallow my bowl,
Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal
    One blissful dream of the heart from me;
Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal,
    The bowl but brightens my love for thee.

They tell us that love in his fairy bower,
    Had two blush-roses of birth divine;
He sprinkled the one with a rainbow shower,
    But bathed the other with mantling wine.
        ...

Thomas Moore

We May Roam Through This World.

We may roam thro' this world, like a child at a feast,
Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest;
And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east,
We may order our wings and be off to the west;
But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile,
Are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies,
We never need leave our own green isle,
For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes.
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crowned,
Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you roam,
When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,
Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home.

In England, the garden of Beauty is kept
By a dragon of prudery placed within call;
But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,
That the garden's but carelessly watched after all.

Thomas Moore