Love poems

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The Ghost of Miltiades

© Thomas Moore

The Ghost of Miltiades came at night,
And he stood by the bed of the Benthamite,
And he said, in a voice, that thrill'd the frame,
"If ever the sound of Marathon's name
Hath fir'd they blood or flush'd thy brow,
Lover of Liberty, rise thee now!"

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The Fortune-Teller

© Thomas Moore

Down in the valley come meet me to-night,
And I'll tell you your fortune truly
As ever 'twas told, by the new-moon's light,
To a young maiden, shining as newly.

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Take Back the Virgin Page

© Thomas Moore

Written on Returning a Blank Book
Take back the virgin page,
White and unwritten still;
Some hand, more calm and sage,

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Sweet Innisfallen

© Thomas Moore

Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well,
May calm and sunshine long be thine!
How fair thou art let others tell --
To feel how fair shall long be mine.

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Sing -- Sing -- Music Was Given

© Thomas Moore

Sing -- sing -- Music was given
To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving;
Souls here, like planets in heaven,
By harmony's laws alone are kept moving.

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She Sung of Love

© Thomas Moore

She sung of Love, while o'er her lyre
The rosy rays of evening fell,
As if to feed with their soft fire
The soul within that trembling shell.

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She is Far From the Land

© Thomas Moore

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her, sighing;
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.

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Shall the Harp Then Be Silent

© Thomas Moore

Shall the Harp then be silent, when he who first gave
To our country a name, is withdrawn from all eyes?
Shall a Minstrel of Erin stand mute by the grave
Where the first -- where the last of her Patriots lies?

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Rich and Rare Were the Gems She Wore

© Thomas Moore

Rich and rare were the gems she wore,
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore;
But oh! her beauty was far beyond
Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand.

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Remember Thee!

© Thomas Moore

Remember thee! yes, while there's life in this heart,
It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art;
More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers,
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours.

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Quantum Est Quod Desit

© Thomas Moore

'Twas a new feeling - something more
Than we had dar'd to own before,
Which then we hid not;
We saw it in each other's eye,
And wish'd in every broken sigh
To speak, but did not!

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On Music

© Thomas Moore

When through life unblest we rove,
Losing all that made life dear,
Should some notes we used to love,
In days of boyhood, meet our ear,

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Omens

© Thomas Moore

When daylight was yet sleeping under the pillow,
And stars in the heavens still lingering shone,
Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow,
The last time she e'er was to press it alone.

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Oh, Ye Dead!

© Thomas Moore

Oh, ye Dead! oh, ye Dead! whom we know by the light you give
From your cold gleaming eyes, though you move like men who live,
Why leave you thus your graves,
In far off fields and waves,

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Oh, the Shamrock

© Thomas Moore

Through Erin's Isle
To sport awhile
As Love and Valour wander'd,
With Wit, the sprite,

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Oh! Think Not My Spirits Are Always As Light

© Thomas Moore

Oh! think not my spirits are always as light,
And as free from a pang as they seem to you now,
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night
Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow.

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Oh! Had We Some Bright Little Isle of Our Own

© Thomas Moore

Oh! had we some bright little isle of our own,
In a blue summer ocean, far off and alone,
Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers,
And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers;

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Oh! Doubt Me Not

© Thomas Moore

Oh! doubt me not -- the season
Is o'er when Folly made me rove,
And now the vestal, Reason,
Shall watch the fire awaked by Love.

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Oh! Blame Not the Bard

© Thomas Moore

Oh! blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers
Where Pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at Fame;
He was born for much more, and in happier hours
His soul might have burn'd with a holier flame.

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Oh! Arranmore, Loved Arranmore

© Thomas Moore

Oh! Arranmore, loved Arranmore,
How oft I dream of thee,
And of those days when, by thy shore,
I wander'd young and free.