Samuel Lover

(1797-1868 / Ireland)

Samuel Lover Poems

1. Barney O'Hea 9/28/2010
2. Defense, But Not Defiance 9/28/2010
3. Father Roach 9/28/2010
4. Give Me My Arrows And Give Me My Bow 9/28/2010
5. Love And Death 9/28/2010
6. Maccarthy's Grave: A Legend Of Killarney 9/28/2010
7. Molly Carew 9/28/2010
8. Ned Of The Hill 9/28/2010
9. Nymph Of Niagra 9/28/2010
10. Oh! Watch You Well By Daylight 9/28/2010
11. Old Westminster Hall 9/28/2010
12. Rory O'More 9/28/2010
13. Song Of The London Irish Volunteer Rifles 9/28/2010
14. St. Kevin -- A Legend Of Glendalough 9/28/2010
15. The Angel's Whisper 1/5/2015
16. The Beggar 9/28/2010
17. The Blacksmith 9/28/2010
18. The Blarney 9/28/2010
19. The Bowld Sojer Boy 9/28/2010
20. The Chain Of Gold 9/28/2010
21. The Charm 9/28/2010
22. The Crooked Stick 9/28/2010
23. The Dew-Drop: A Metrical Fantasy 9/28/2010
24. The Fairy Boy 9/28/2010
25. The Fairy Tempter 9/28/2010
26. The Falling Star 9/28/2010
27. The Flooded Hut Of The Mississippi 9/28/2010
28. The Flower Of Night 9/28/2010
29. The Forsaken 9/28/2010
30. The Four-Leaved Shamrock 9/28/2010
31. The Haunting Spring 9/28/2010
32. The Hour Before Day 9/28/2010
33. The Letter 9/28/2010
34. The May-Dew 9/28/2010
35. The Moon 9/28/2010
36. The Morning Dream 9/28/2010
37. The Pilgrim Harper 9/28/2010
38. The Ring And The Winding-Sheet 9/28/2010
39. The Two Barrels 9/28/2010
40. To Mary 9/28/2010

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Best Poem of Samuel Lover

The Angel's Whisper

[In Ireland they have a pretty fancy that when a child smiles in its sleep it is "talking with angels."]

A BABY was sleeping;
Its mother was weeping;
For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;
And the tempest was swelling
Round the fisherman's dwelling;
And she cried, "Dermot, darling! O come back to me!"

Her beads while she numbered
The baby still slumbered,
And smiled in her face as she bended her knee:
"O, blessed be that warning,
My child,...

Read the full of The Angel's Whisper

Molly Carew

Och hone! and what will I do?
Sure my love is all crost
Like a bud in the frost;
And there's no use at all in my going to bed,
For 'tis dhrames and not sleep comes into my head,
And 'tis all about you,
My sweet Molly Carew-
And indeed 'tis a sin and a shame!
You're complater than Nature

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