Thomas Moore

(28 May 1779 – 25 February 1852 / Dublin)

Thomas Moore Poems

1. Anacreontic -new- 10/3/2015
2. Song Of The Evil Spirit Of The Woods 2/28/2015
3. To Ladies' Eyes 1/3/2003
4. I Saw Thy Form In Youthful Prime 1/3/2003
5. Though The Last Glimpse Of Erin With Sorrow I See 1/3/2003
6. The Song Of O'Ruark, Prince Of Breffni 1/3/2003
7. Translation From The Gull Language 1/3/2003
8. Linda To Hafed 4/8/2010
9. There Are Sounds Of Mirth 1/3/2003
10. The Ghost Of Miltiades 1/3/2003
11. Though Humble The Banquet 1/3/2003
12. Song Of The Battle Eve 1/3/2003
13. Ode To The Sublime Porte 1/3/2003
14. The Loves Of The Angels 4/8/2010
15. The Prince's Day 1/3/2003
16. The Sinking Fund Cried 1/3/2003
17. The Dream Of Those Days 1/3/2003
18. Oh, Banquet Not 1/3/2003
19. Sweet Innisfallen 1/3/2003
20. When First I Met Thee 1/3/2003
21. Weep On, Weep On 1/3/2003
22. Epistle Of Condolence From A Slave-Lord To A Cotton-Lord 4/8/2010
23. Fill The Bumper Fair 1/3/2003
24. The Parallel 1/3/2003
25. St. Senanus And The Lady 1/3/2003
26. No, Not More Welcome 1/3/2003
27. This Life Is All Chequer'D With Pleasures And Woes 1/3/2003
28. Oh! Doubt Me Not 1/3/2003
29. Hark! The Vesper Hymn Is Stealing 4/8/2010
30. Oh For The Swords Of Former Time 1/3/2003
31. Take Back The Virgin Page 1/3/2003
32. The Song Of Fionnuala 1/3/2003
33. Silence Is In Our Festal Halls 1/3/2003
34. The Donkey And His Panniers 1/3/2003
35. You Remember Ellen 1/3/2003
36. When Cold In The Earth 1/3/2003
37. Omens 1/3/2003
38. Ode To The Goddess Ceres 1/3/2003
39. Oh, The Sight Entrancing 1/3/2003
40. The Legacy 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Thomas Moore

Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms

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,
Live 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.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
No, the heart that has truly loved never ...

Read the full of Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms


Press the grape, and let it pour
Around the board its purple shower:
And, while the drops my goblet steep,
I'll think in woe the clusters weep.

Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine!
Heaven grant no tears, but tears of wine.
Weep on; and, as thy sorrows flow,
I'll taste the luxury of woe.

[Hata Bildir]