Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

Alle digte af Thomas Moore på Kalliope ordnet alfabetisk efter tekstens første linje. Listen kan bruges til at finde et digt, når titlen er ukendt.

A

All that’s bright must fade

Alone in crowds to wander on

And doth not a meeting like this make amends

And now with all thy pencil’s truth

Arm’d with hyacinthine rod

As a beam o’er the face of the waters may glow

As, by his Lemnian forge’s flame

As late I sought the spangled bowers

As slow our ship her foamy track

As vanquish’d Erin wept beside

A Temple to Friendship; said Laura, enchanted

At morn, beside yon summer sea

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly

Avening and bright fall the swift sword of Erin

B

Behold, my love, the curious gem

Behold, the young, the rosy Spring

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms

Bright be thy dreams—may all thy weeping

Buds of roses, virgin flowers

By that Lake, whose gloomy shore

By the Feal’s wave benighted

By the hope within us springing

C

Cloris! if I were Persia’s king

Come o’er the sea

Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer

Come, send round the wine, and leave points of belief

Come, tell me, says Rosa, as kissing and kist

Concealed within the shady wood

Count me, on the summer trees

Cupid once upon a bed

D

Dear Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee

Dost thou remember that place so lonely

Drink of this cup; — you’ll find there’s a spell in

Drink to her who long

E

Erin! The Tear and the Smile in Thine Eyes

F

Fairest! put on a while

Farewell! but whenever you welcome the hour

Fill the bumper fair!

Flow on, thou shining river

Fly from the world, O Bessy! to me

Fly not thus my brow of snow

Fly not yet, ’tis just the hour

Forget not the field where they perish’d

From this hour the pledge is given

G

Give me, my love, that billing kiss

Give me the harp of epic song

Good night! good night!—And is it so?

H

Here recline you, gentle maid

Here we dwell, in holiest bowers

How am I to punish thee

How dear to me the hour when daylight dies

How I love the festive boy

How oft a cloud, with envious veil

How oft has the Benshee cried

How sweetly could I lay my head

How sweet the answer Echo makes

L

Lay his sword by his side — it hath served him too well

Lesbia hath a beaming eye

Let Erin remember the days of old

Let us drain the nectar’d bowl

Like the bright lamp, that shone in Kildare’s holy fane

Listen to the Muse’s lyre

Love had a fever—ne’er could close

Love is a hunter-boy

Love thee, dearest? love thee?

M

My gentle Harp, once more I waken

My heart is united to Chloe’s for ever

N

Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns

Nay, tempt me not to love again

Ne’er ask the hour — what is it to us

Night closed around the conqueror’s way

No, not more welcome the fairy numbers

Now the star of day is high

O

Observe when mother earth is dry

Of all the fair months, that round the sun

Oft, in the stilly night

Oh! Arranmore, loved Arranmore

Oh, banquet not in those shining bowers

Oh! blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers

Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade

Oh, come to me when daylight sets

Oh, could we do with this world of ours

Oh! doubt me not — the season

Oh for the swords of former time!

Oh! had I leisure to sigh and mourn

Oh! had we some bright little isle of our own

Oh! if your tears are given to care

Oh! it was fill’d with words of flame

Oh! see those cherries—though once so glowing

Oh! the days are gone, when Beauty bright

Oh, the sight entrancing

Oh! Think Not My Spirits Are Always As Light

Oh thou, of all creation blest

Oh! weep for the hour

Oh, where’s the slave so lowly

Oh, ye Dead! oh, ye Dead! whom we know by the light you give

Once in each revolving year

One bumper at parting! — though many

One day the Muses twined the hands

On! haste, and leave this sacred isle

P

Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us—

Phillis, you little rosy rake

Q

Quick! we have but a second

R

Reason and Folly and Beauty, they say

Remember’st thou that setting sun

Remember thee! yes, while there’s life in this heart

Remember the Glories of Brien the Brave

Rich and Rare Were the Gems She Wore

Row gently here

S

Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark

Sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soul

See how, beneath the moonbeam’s smile

Shall the Harp then be silent, when he who first gave

She has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps

She sung of Love, while o’er her lyre

Silence is in our festal halls

Silent, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water

Sing — sing — Music was given

Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me

So warmly we met and so fondly we parted

Strew me a fragrant bed of leaves

Strike the gay harp! see the moon is on high

Sublime was the warning that liberty spoke

Sweet Fanny of Timmoll when first you came in

Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well

Sweet lady, look not thus again

T

Take back the sigh thy lips of art

Take back the virgin page

Tell me, gentle youth, I pray thee

Tell me, why, my sweetest dove

That wrinkle, when first I espied it

The brilliant black eye

The dawning of morn, the daylight’s sinking

The dream of those days when first I sung thee is o’er

The Harp That Once Through Tara’s Halls

The Minstrel-Boy to the war is gone

The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm

There are sounds of mirth in the night-air ringing

There comes a time, a dreary time

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet

The time I’ve lost in wooing

The valley lay smiling before me

The wine-cup is circling in Almhin’s hall

The women tell me every day

They came from a land beyond the sea

They know not my heart, who believe there can be

They made her a grave, too cold and damp

They may rail at this life — from the hour I began it

The young May moon is beaming, love

They tell how Atys, wild with love

This journal of folly’s an emblem of me

This life is all chequer’d with pleasures and woes

This world is all a fleeting show

Though dark are our sorrows, today we’ll forget them

Though humble the banquet to which I invite thee

Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see

Thou, whose soft and rosy hues

Through Erin’s Isle

Through grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer’d my way

Thy harp may sing of Troy’s alarms

Tis believed that this Harp, which I wake now for thee

Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking

Tis said—but whether true or not

Tis sweet to think that, where’er we rove

Tis the last rose of summer

Tis true, my fading years decline

To all that breathe the air of heaven

To Ladies’ eyes a round, boy

To-morrow, comrade, we

Turn to me, Love the morning rays

Twas a new feeling — something more

Twas in a mocking dream of night

Twas in the summer time so sweet

Twas night, and many a circling bowl

Twas noon of night, when round the pole

Twas one of those dreams, that by music are brought

V

Vulcan! hear your glorious task

W

Wake, my life! thy lover’s arms

Weep on, weep on, your hour is past

We may roam through this world, like a child at a feast

We read the flying courser’s name

What life like that of the bard can be

What the bee is to the flowert

When Bacchus, Jove’s immortal boy

When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved

When daylight was yet sleeping under the pillow

When’er I see those smiling eyes

When first I met thee, warm and young

When he, who adores thee, has left but the name

When I loved you, I can’t but allow

When in death I shall calmly recline

When Love was a child, and went idling round

When ’midst the gay I meet

When my thirsty soul I steep

When on the lip the sigh delays

When Spring adorns the dewy scene

When the wine-cup is smiling

When through life unblest we rove

When twilight dews are falling soft

When wearied wretches sink to sleep

When wine I quaff, before my eyes

While gazing on the moon’s light

While History’s Muse the memorial was keeping

While our rosy fillets shed

Will you come to the bower I have shaded for you?

Within this goblet, rich and deep

Wreath the bowl

Y

Yes, be the glorious revel mine

Yes — loving is a painful thrill

Yes, sad one of Sion, if closely resembling

You read it in these spell-bound eyes

You remember Ellen, our hamlet’s pride