To Mrs. ....... On Some Calumnies Against Her Character.

Is not thy mind a gentle mind?
Is not that heart a heart refined?
Hast thou not every gentle grace,
We love in woman's mind and face?
And, oh! art thou a shrine for Sin
To hold her hateful worship in?

No, no, be happy--dry that tear--
Though some thy heart hath harbored near,
May now repay its love with blame;
Though man, who ought to shield thy fame,
Ungenerous man, be first to shun thee;
Though all the world look cold upon thee,
Yet shall thy pureness keep thee still
Unharmed by that surrounding chill;
Like the famed drop, in crystal found,^[1]
Floating, while all was frozen round,--
Unchilled unchanging shalt thou be,
Safe in thy own sweet purity.

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

Rhymes On The Road. Extract XV. Rome.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Grand Dinner Of Type And Co. A Poor Poet's Dream.[1]

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LI.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

What The Bee Is To The Floweret.

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.

They Know Not My Heart.

They know not my heart, who believe there can be
One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee;
Who think, while I see thee in beauty's young hour,
As pure as the morning's first dew on the flower,
I could harm what I love,--as the sun's wanton ray
But smiles on the dew-drop to waste it away.

No--beaming with light as those young features are,
There's a light round thy heart which is lovelier far:
It is not that cheek--'tis the soul dawning clear
Thro' its innocent blush makes thy beauty so dear:
As the sky we look up to, tho' glorious and fair,
Is looked up to the more, because Heaven lies there!

Thomas Moore

A Warning.

TO .......


Oh, fair as heaven and chaste as light!
Did nature mould thee all so bright.
That thou shouldst e'er be brought to weep
O'er languid virtue's fatal sleep,
O'er shame extinguished, honor fled,
Peace lost, heart withered, feeling dead?

No, no! a star was born with thee,
Which sheds eternal purity.
Thou hast, within those sainted eyes,
So fair a transcript of the skies,
In lines of light such heavenly lore
That men should read them and adore.
Yet have I known a gentle maid
Whose mind and form were both arrayed
In nature's purest light, like thine;--
Who wore that clear, celestial sign
Which seems to mark the brow that's fair
For destiny's peculiar care;
Whose bosom, too, like Dian's own,
Was guarded by a sacred zon...

Thomas Moore

To Julia. In Allusion To Some Illiberal Criticisms.

Why, let the stingless critic chide
With all that fume of vacant pride
Which mantles o'er the pendant fool,
Like vapor on a stagnant pool.
Oh! if the song, to feeling true,
Can please the elect, the sacred few,
Whose souls, by Taste and Nature taught,
Thrill with the genuine pulse of thought--
If some fond feeling maid like thee,
The warm-eyed child of Sympathy,
Shall say, while o'er my simple theme
She languishes in Passion's dream,
"He was, indeed, a tender soul--
No critic law, no chill control,
Should ever freeze, by timid art,
The flowings of so fond a heart!"
Yes, soul of Nature! soul of Love!
That, hovering like a snow-winged dove,
Breathed o'er my cradle warblings wild,
And hailed me Passion's warmest child,--
Grant me the tear from...

Thomas Moore

When First I Met Thee.

When first I met thee, warm and young,
    There shone such truth about thee.
And on thy lip such promise hung,
    I did not dare to doubt thee.
I saw the change, yet still relied,
    Still clung with hope the fonder,
And thought, tho' false to all beside,
    From me thou couldst not wander.
        But go, deceiver! go,
            The heart, whose hopes could make it
        Trust one so false, so low,
            Deserves that thou shouldst break it.

When every tongue thy follies named,
    I fled the unwelcome story;
Or found, in even the faults they blamed,
    Some gleams of future glory.
I still was true, when nearer friends
    Conspired to wrong, to slight thee;
The heart that now thy falsehood rends,
    Would then have...

Thomas Moore

Woman.

Away, away--you're all the same,
    A smiling, fluttering, jilting throng;
And, wise too late, I burn with shame,
    To think I've been your slave so long.

Slow to be won, and quick to rove,
    From folly kind, from cunning loath,
Too cold for bliss, too weak for love,
    Yet feigning all that's best in both;

Still panting o'er a crowd to reign,--
    More joy it gives to woman's breast
To make ten frigid coxcombs vain,
    Than one true, manly lover blest.

Away, away--your smile's a curse--
    Oh! blot me from the race of men,
Kind, pitying Heaven, by death or worse,
    If e'er I love such things again.

Thomas Moore

To .......

That wrinkle, when first I espied it,
    At once put my heart out of pain;
Till the eye, that was glowing beside it,
    Disturbed my ideas again.

Thou art just in the twilight at present,
    When woman's declension begins;
When, fading from all that is pleasant,
    She bids a good night to her sins.

Yet thou still art so lovely to me,
    I would sooner, my exquisite mother!
Repose in the sunset of thee,
    Than bask in the noon of another.

Thomas Moore