Thomas Moore

(28 May 1779 – 25 February 1852 / Dublin)

The Dream Of Those Days - Poem by Thomas Moore

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 freedom remains.

Say, is it that slavery sunk so deep in thy heart,
That still the dark brand is there, though chainless thou art;
And Freedom's sweet fruit, for which thy spirit long burn'd,
Now, reaching at last thy lip, to ashes hath turn'd?

Up Liberty's steep by Truth and Eloquence led,
With eyes on her temple fix'd, how proud was thy tread!
Ah, better thou ne'er hadst lived that summit to gain,
Denied in the porch, than thus dishonour the fane.


Comments about The Dream Of Those Days by Thomas Moore

  • (8/3/2015 6:02:00 PM)


    I could go on reading thy words
    And with every other revive and revere
    Such truth, such depth
    Such wisdom i wish i earlier had met
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Read poems about / on: freedom, truth, dream, hope, dark, light, heart, sorrow



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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