When Midst The Gay I Meet.

When midst the gay I meet
    That gentle smile of thine,
Tho' still on me it turns most sweet,
    I scarce can call it mine:
But when to me alone
    Your secret tears you show,
Oh, then I feel those tears my own,
    And claim them while they flow.
Then still with bright looks bless
    The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
    But keep your tears for me.

The snow on Jura's steep
    Can smile in many a beam,
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep.
    How bright soe'er it seem.
But, when some deep-felt ray
    Whose touch is fire appears,
Oh, then the smile is warmed away,
    And, melting, turns to tears.
Then still with bright looks bless
    The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
    But keep your tears for me.

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

A Speculation.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Fudge Family In Paris Letter II. From Phil. Fudge, Esq., To The Lord Viscount Castlereagh.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

To Cara, On The Dawning Of A New Year's Day.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Song Of Hercules To His Daughter.

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.

Whene'er I See Those Smiling Eyes.

Whene'er I see those smiling eyes,
    So full of hope, and joy, and light,
As if no cloud could ever rise,
    To dim a heaven so purely bright--
I sigh to think how soon that brow
    In grief may lose its every ray,
And that light heart, so joyous now,
    Almost forget it once was gay.

For time will come with all its blights,
    The ruined hope, the friend unkind,
And love, that leaves, where'er it lights,
    A chilled or burning heart behind:--
While youth, that now like snow appears,
    Ere sullied by the darkening rain,
When once 'tis touched by sorrow's tears
    Can ever shine so bright again.

Thomas Moore

Tho' Lightly Sounds The Song I Sing. A Song Of The Alps.

Tho' lightly sounds the song I sing to thee,
Tho' like the lark's its soaring music be,
Thou'lt find even here some mournful note that tells
How near such April joy to weeping dwells.
'Tis 'mong the gayest scenes that oftenest steal
Those saddening thoughts we fear, yet love to feel;
And music never half so sweet appears,
As when her mirth forgets itself in tears.

Then say not thou this Alpine song is gay--
It comes from hearts that, like their mountain-lay,
Mix joy with pain, and oft when pleasure's breath
Most warms the surface feel most sad beneath.
The very beam in which the snow-wreath wears
Its gayest smile is that which wins its tears,--
And passion's power can never lend the glow
Which wakens bliss, without some touch of woe.

Thomas Moore

And Doth Not A Meeting Like This.

And doth not a meeting like this make amends,
    For all the long years I've been wandering away--
To see thus around me my youth's early friends,
    As smiling and kind as in that happy day?
Tho' haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine,
    The snow-fall of time may be stealing--what then?
Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine,
    We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again.

What softened remembrances come o'er the heart,
    In gazing on those we've been lost to so long!
The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part,
    Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng,
As letters some hand hath invisibly traced,
    When held to the flame will steal out on the sight,
So many a feeling, that long seemed effaced,
    The warmth of...

Thomas Moore

In The Morning Of Life.

In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown,
    And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin,
When we live in a bright-beaming world of our own,
    And the light that surrounds us is all from within;
Oh 'tis not, believe me, in that happy time
    We can love, as in hours of less transport we may;--
Of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay sunny prime,
    But affection is truest when these fade away.

When we see the first glory of youth pass us by,
    Like a leaf on the stream that will never return;
When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high,
    First tastes of the other, the dark-flowing urn;
Then, then is the time when affection holds sway
    With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew;
Love, nursed among pleasures, is faith...

Thomas Moore

They Tell Me Thou'rt The Favored Guest.

They tell me thou'rt the favored guest
    Of every fair and brilliant throng;
No wit like thine to wake the jest,
    No voice like thine to breathe the song;
And none could guess, so gay thou art,
That thou and I are far apart.

Alas! alas! how different flows
    With thee and me the time away!
Not that I wish thee sad--heaven knows--
    Still if thou canst, be light and gay;
I only know, that without thee
The sun himself is dark to me.

Do I thus haste to hall and bower,
    Among the proud and gay to shine?
Or deck my hair with gem and flower,
    To flatter other eyes than thine?
Ah, no, with me love's smiles are past
Thou hadst the first, thou hadst the last.

Thomas Moore

When Cold In The Earth.

When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved,
    Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then;
Or, if from their slumber the veil be removed,
    Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again.
And oh! if 'tis pain to remember how far
    From the pathways of light he was tempted to roam,
Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star
    That arose on his darkness and guided him home.

From thee and thy innocent beauty first came
    The revealings, that taught him true love to adore,
To feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame
    From the idols he blindly had knelt to before.
O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild,
    Thou camest, like a soft golden calm o'er the sea;
And if happiness purely and glowingly smiled
    On h...

Thomas Moore