Youth And Age.

"Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth, one day,
To drooping Age, who crest his way.--
"It is a sunny hour of play,
"For which repentance dear doth pay;
    "Repentance! Repentance!
"And this is Love, as wise men say."
"Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth once more,
Fearful, yet fond, of Age's lore.--
"Soft as a passing summer's wind,
"Wouldst know the blight it leaves behind?
    "Repentance! Repentance!
"And this is Love--when love is o'er."

"Tell me, what's Love? "said Youth again,
Trusting the bliss, but not the pain.
"Sweet as a May tree's scented air--
"Mark ye what bitter fruit 'twill bear,
    "Repentance! Repentance!
"This, this is Love--sweet Youth, beware."

Just then, young Love himself came by,
And cast on Youth a smiling eye;
Who could resist that glance's ray?
In vain did Age his warning say,
    "Repentance! Repentance!"
Youth laughing went with Love away.

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

Elegiac Stanzas.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

They Tell Me Thou'rt The Favored Guest.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode LII.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

But Who Shall See. (Air.--Stevenson.)

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.

Youth And Age.

I love the joyous thoughtless heart,
The revels of the youthful mind,
'Ere sad experience points the dart,
Which wounds so surely all mankind.

It glads me when the buoyant soul,
Unconscious ranges, fancy free,
Draining the sweets of pleasure's bowl,
And thinking all as blest as he.

Ah! me, yet sad it is to know,
The many griefs the future brings,
That time must change that note to woe,
Which now its merry carrol sings.

This "summer of the mind," alas!
Must have its autumn--leafless, bare,
When all these pleasing phantoms pass,
And end in winter, age, and care!

Such, such is life, the moral tells--
The tempest, and its sunny smiles,
A warning voice the cheerful bells,
The knell of death, our youth beguiles!

Thomas Gent

Love's Young Dream.

Oh! the days are gone, when Beauty bright
        My heart's chain wove;
When my dream of life, from morn till night,
        Was love, still love.
        New hope may bloom,
        And days may come,

    Of milder, calmer beam,
But there's nothing half so sweet in life
    As love's young dream;
No, there's nothing half so sweet in life
    As love's young dream.

Tho' the bard to purer fame may soar,
            When wild youth's past;
Tho' he win the wise, who frowned before,
            To smile at last;
            He'll never meet
            A joy so sweet,
    In all his noon of fame,
As when first he sung to woman's ear
    His soul-felt flame,
And, at every close, she blushed to hear
    The one lov'd name.
...

Thomas Moore

Youth and Age

Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee -
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young? - Ah, woeful When!
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands
How lightly then it flashed along,
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When Youth and I lived in't together.

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O the joys! that came down shower-like,
Of Friendshi...

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Love And Reason.

        Quand l'homme commence à raissonner,
        il cesse de sentir.--J. J. ROUSSEAU.


'Twas in the summer time so sweet,
    When hearts and flowers are both in season,
That--who, of all the world, should meet,
    One early dawn, but Love and Reason!

Love told his dream of yesternight,
    While Reason talked about the weather;
The morn, in sooth, was fair and bright,
    And on they took their way together.

The boy in many a gambol flew,
    While Reason, like a Juno, stalked,
And from her portly figure threw
    A lengthened shadow, as she walked.

No wonder Love, as on they past,
    Should find that sunny morning chill,
For still the shadow Reason cast
Fell o'er the boy, and cooled him still.

In vain...

Thomas Moore

Youth And Age.

YOUTH.

Pilgrim of life! thy hoary head
    Is bent with age, thine eye
Looks downward to the silent dead,
    Wreck of mortality!--
The friends who flourished in thy day
    Have sought their narrow home;
Their spirits whisper, "Come away!"--


AGE.

    My soul replies, I come.--
I tread the path I trod a child,
    The fields I loved of yore;
The flowers that 'neath my footsteps smiled
    Now meet my gaze no more.
I stand beneath this giant oak!
    It was an aged tree,
Hollowed by time's resistless stroke,
    When life was green with me.
Its lofty head it proudly rears
    To greet the summer sky,
Whilst, bending with the weight of years,
    I feebly totter by.
And hushed are all the thousand songs
...

Susanna Moodie

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