Thomas Moore Quotes

The moon looks On many brooks, "The brook can see no moon but this."

'Tis the last rose of Summer, Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone.

I knew, by the smoke that so gracefully curl'd Above the green elms, that a cottage was near; And I said, "If there's peace to be found in the world, A heart that was humble might hope for it here."

Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish; Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

What though youth gave love and roses, Age still leaves us friends and wine.

I feel like one, Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed!

And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet.

Humility, that low, sweet root From which all heavenly virtues shoot.

But there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream.

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone, In the ranks of death you'll find him; His father's sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him.

A friendship that like love is warm; A love like friendship, steady.

Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.

Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells Of youth and home, and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime!

Oft, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken!

The light that lies In woman's eyes, Has been my heart's undoing.

Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.

But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last.

And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

I know not, I ask not, if guilt 's in that heart, I but know that I love thee whatever thou art.

The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er; And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more.

Oh, call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold.

My only books Were woman's looks, And folly's all they've taught me.

When true hearts lie wither'd And fond ones are flown, Oh, who would inhabit This bleak world alone?

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow and fleet in my arms, Like fairy gifts fading away. Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart, Would entwine itself verdantly still.

Beholding heaven, and feeling hell.

One morn a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood disconsolate.

As sunshine broken in the rill, Though turned astray, is sunshine still.

You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.

Love on through all ills, and love on till they die.

This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, The past, the future,—two eternities!

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumphed—his people are free.

And oh if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this!

Oh, weep for the hour When to Eveleen's bower The lord of the valley with false vows came.

And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.

When Time who steals our years away Shall steal our pleasures too, The mem'ry of the past will stay, And half our joys renew.

But the trail of the serpent is over them all.

Though an angel should write, still 't is devils must print.

To live with them is far less sweet Than to remember thee.

Go where glory waits thee, But while fame elates thee, Oh! still remember me!

To live and die in scenes like this, With some we 've left behind us.

How shall we rank thee upon glory's page, Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage?

No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us All earth forgot, and all heaven around us.

And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, The maiden herself will steal after it soon.

Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years,— One minute of heaven is worth them all.

Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and free, First flower of the earth and first gem of the sea.

If thou would'st have me sing and play As once I play'd and sung, First take this time-worn lute away, And bring one freshly strung.

If I speak to thee in friendship's name, Thou think'st I speak too coldly; If I mention love's devoted flame, Thou say'st I speak too boldly.

I give thee all,—I can no more, Though poor the off'ring be; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee.

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave Whose treason, like a deadly blight, Comes o'er the councils of the brave, And blasts them in their hour of might!

Who has not felt how sadly sweet The dream of home, the dream of home, Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, When far o'er sea or land we roam?

No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close; As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets The same look which she turn'd when he rose.

Ay, down to the dust with them, slaves as they are! From this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins, That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war, Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains.

There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.

The bird let loose in Eastern skies, Returning fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam; But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way.

Eyes of unholy blue.

To Greece we give our shining blades.

Paradise itself were dim And joyless, if not shared with him!

Where bastard Freedom waves The fustian flag in mockery over slaves.

When did morning ever break, And find such beaming eyes awake?

A Persian's heaven is easily made: 'Tis but black eyes and lemonade.

Who ran Through each mode of the lyre, and was master of all.

Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.

Weep on! and as thy sorrows flow, I 'll taste the luxury of woe.

Like Dead Sea fruits, that tempt the eye, But turn to ashes on the lips.

Like the stain'd web that whitens in the sun, Grow pure by being purely shone upon.

Some flow'rets of Eden ye still inherit, But the trail of the serpent is over them all.

Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade.

Good at a fight, but better at a play; Godlike in giving, but the devil to pay.

Rich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore.

Ask a woman's advice, and, whate'er she advise, Do the very reverse and you're sure to be wise.

Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid.

Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree?

When thus the heart is in a vein Of tender thought, the simplest strain Can touch it with peculiar power.

All that's bright must fade,— The brightest and the fleetest; All that's sweet was made, But to be lost when sweetest.

There was a little man, and he had a little soul; And he said, Little Soul, let us try, try, try!

'T is believ'd that this harp which I wake now for thee Was a siren of old who sung under the sea.

Oh stay! oh stay! Joy so seldom weaves a chain Like this to-night, that oh 't is pain To break its links so soon.

To sigh, yet feel no pain; To weep, yet scarce know why; To sport an hour with Beauty's chain, Then throw it idly by.

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.

The minds of some of our statesmen, like the pupil of the human eye, contract themselves the more, the stronger light there is shed upon them.

As half in shade and half in sun This world along its path advances, May that side the sun's upon Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances!

This world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,— There's nothing true but Heaven.

Fly not yet; 't is just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night And maids who love the moon.

Like a young eagle who has lent his plume To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom, See their own feathers pluck'd to wing the dart Which rank corruption destines for their heart.

"Come, come," said Tom's father, "at   your time of life, There's no longer excuse for thus   playing the rake-- It is time you should think, boy, of   taking a wife." "Why, so it is father--whose wife   shall I take?"

'T is sweet to think that where'er we rove We are sure to find something blissful and dear; And that when we 're far from the lips we love, We've but to make love to the lips we are near.

Thus, when the lamp that lighted The traveller at first goes out, He feels awhile benighted, And looks around in fear and doubt. But soon, the prospect clearing, By cloudless starlight on he treads, And thinks no lamp so cheering As that light which Heaven sheds.

Alas! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied; That stood the storm when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea When heaven was all tranquillity.

Oh, ever thus, from childhood's hour, I 've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower But 't was the first to fade away. I never nurs'd a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well And love me, it was sure to die.

As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee. As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, So dark when I roam in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee.