Thomas Moore quotes - page 2

But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last. (Thomas Moore)
Weep on and as thy sorrows flow, I'll taste the luxury of woe.
Thomas Moore
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.
Thomas Moore
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.'
Thomas Moore
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.
Thomas Moore
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.
Thomas Moore
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?
Thomas Moore
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumphed-his people are free.
Thomas Moore
I know not, I ask not, if guilt 's in that heart, I but know that I love thee whatever thou art.
Thomas Moore
Oh, weep for the hour When to Eveleen's bower The lord of the valley with false vows came.
Thomas Moore
To live and die in scenes like this, With some we 've left behind us. (Thomas Moore)
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.
Thomas Moore
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.
Thomas Moore
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.
Thomas Moore
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.
Thomas Moore
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.
Thomas Moore
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.
Thomas Moore
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!
Thomas Moore
Life is a waste of wearisome hours Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.
Thomas Moore
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.
Thomas Moore
Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade. (Thomas Moore)
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.
Thomas Moore
Accurst is the march of that glory Which treads o'er the hearts of the free.
Thomas Moore
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!
Thomas Moore
When true hearts lie wither'd And fond ones are flown, Oh, who would inhabit This bleak world alone?
Thomas Moore