Category Archives: Thomas Moore

She Sung Of Love – Thomas Moore

She sung of Love, while o’er her lyre  The rosy rays of evening fell,  As if to feed with their soft fire  The soul within that trembling shell.  The same rich light hung o’er her cheek,  And play’d around those … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Thomas Moore | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Drink To Her – Thomas Moore

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 play’d,  It yields not half the tone.  … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Thomas Moore | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Poem – The  Fortune Teller 

Down in the valley come meet me to-night,  And I’ll tell you your fortune truly  As ever ’twas told, by the new-moon’s light,  To a young maiden, shining as newly.  But, for the world, let no one be nigh,  Lest … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Thomas Moore | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Poem – The Dream of those Days

The dream of those days when first I sung thee is o’er  Thy triumph hath stain’d the charm thy sorrows then wore;  And even the light which Hope once shed o’er thy chains,  Alas, not a gleam to grace thy … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Thomas Moore | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Poem – The Donkey and His Panniers

A Donkey, whose talent for burdens was wondrous, So much that you’d swear he rejoic’d in a load, One day had to jog under panniers so pond’rous, That — down the poor Donkey fell smack on the road! His owners … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Thomas Moore | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Poem – Take Back the Virgin Page

Take back the virgin page,  White and unwritten still;  Some hand, more calm and sage,  The leaf must fill.  Thoughts come, as pure as light  Pure as even you require;  But, oh! each word I write  Love turns to fire.  … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Thomas Moore | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Poem – Lay his Sword By his Side

Lay his sword by his side — it hath served him too well  Not to rest near his pillow below;  To the last moment true, from his hand ere it fell,  Its point was still turn’d to a flying foe.  … Continue reading

Rate this:

Posted in Thomas Moore | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment