When To Sad Music Silent You Listen.

When to sad Music silent you listen,
    And tears on those eyelids tremble like dew,
Oh, then there dwells in those eyes as they glisten
    A sweet holy charm that mirth never knew.
But when some lively strain resounding
    Lights up the sunshine of joy on that brow,
Then the young reindeer o'er the hills bounding
    Was ne'er in its mirth so graceful as thou.

When on the skies at midnight thou gazest.
    A lustre so pure thy features then wear,
That, when to some star that bright eye thou raisest,
    We feel 'tis thy home thou'rt looking for there.
But when the word for the gay dance is given,
    So buoyant thy spirit, so heartfelt thy mirth,
Oh then we exclaim, "Ne'er leave earth for heaven,
    "But linger still here, to make heaven of earth."

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

Oh! Blame Not The Bard.[1]

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Fools' Paradise. Dream The First.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Song Of The Olden Time.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

When Night Brings The Hour.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

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On Music.

When thro' life unblest we rove,
    Losing all that made life dear,
Should some notes we used to love,
    In days of boyhood, meet our ear,
Oh! how welcome breathes the strain!
    Wakening thoughts that long have slept;
Kindling former smiles again
    In faded eyes that long have wept.

Like the gale, that sighs along
    Beds of oriental flowers,
Is the grateful breath of song,
    That once was heard in happier hours;
Filled with balm, the gale sighs on,
    Tho' the flowers have sunk in death;
So, when pleasure's dream is gone,
    Its memory lives in Music's breath.

Music, oh how faint, how weak,
    Language fades before thy spell!
Why should Feeling ever speak,
    When thou canst breathe her soul so well?
Friendship's ...

Thomas Moore

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

To Rosa.

Say, why should the girl of my soul be in tears
    At a meeting of rapture like this,
When the glooms of the past and the sorrow of years
    Have been paid by one moment of bliss?

Are they shed for that moment of blissful delight,
    Which dwells on her memory yet?
Do they flow, like the dews of the love-breathing night,
    From the warmth of the sun that has set?

Oh! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile,
    That smile, which is loveliest then;
And if such are the drops that delight can beguile,
    Thou shalt weep them again and again.

Thomas Moore

Sweet Innisfallen.

Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well,
    May calm and sunshine long be thine!
How fair thou art let others tell,--
    To feel how fair shall long be mine.

Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell
    In memory's dream that sunny smile,
Which o'er thee on that evening fell,
    When first I saw thy fairy isle.

'Twas light, indeed, too blest for one,
    Who had to turn to paths of care--
Through crowded haunts again to run,
    And leave thee bright and silent there;

No more unto thy shores to come,
    But, on the world's rude ocean tost,
Dream of thee sometimes, as a home
    Of sunshine he had seen and lost.

Far better in thy weeping hours
    To part from thee, as I do now,
When mist is o'er thy blooming bowers,
    L...

Thomas Moore

When Twilight Dews.

When twilight dews are falling soft
    Upon the rosy sea, love,
I watch the star, whose beam so oft
    Has lighted me to thee, love.
And thou too, on that orb so dear,
    Dost often gaze at even,
And think, tho' lost for ever here,
    Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven.

There's not a garden walk I tread,
    There's not a flower I see, love,
But brings to mind some hope that's fled,
    Some joy that's gone with thee, Love.
And still I wish that hour was near,
    When, friends and foes forgiven,
The pains, the ills we've wept thro' here
    May turn to smiles in heaven.

Thomas Moore

The Tear.

On beds of snow the moonbeam slept,
    And chilly was the midnight gloom,
When by the damp grave Ellen wept--
    Fond maid! it was her Lindor's tomb!

A warm tear gushed, the wintry air,
    Congealed it as it flowed away:
All night it lay an ice-drop there,
    At morn it glittered in the ray.

An angel, wandering from her sphere,
    Who saw this bright, this frozen gem,
To dew-eyed Pity brought the tear
    And hung it on her diadem!

Thomas Moore