Poems begining by O
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Oh! That We Two Were Maying
© Charles Kingsley
1 Oh! that we two were Maying
2 Down the stream of the soft spring breeze;
3 Like children with violets playing
4 In the shade of the whispering trees.
Ode to the Northeast Wind
© Charles Kingsley
Welcome, wild Northeaster!
Shame it is to see
Odes to every zephyr;
Ne'er a verse to thee.
Out upon it, I have lov'd
© Sir John Suckling
Out upon it, I have lov'd
Three whole days together;
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.
One Bumper at Parting
© Thomas Moore
One bumper at parting! -- though many
Have circled the board since we met,
The fullest, the saddest of any
Remains to be crown'd by us yet.
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,
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.
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,
Oh, the Sight Entrancing
© Thomas Moore
Oh, the sight entrancing,
When morning's beam is glancing
O'er files array'd
With helm and blade,
Oh, the Shamrock
© Thomas Moore
Through Erin's Isle
To sport awhile
As Love and Valour wander'd,
With Wit, the sprite,
Oh, Could We Do With This World of Ours
© Thomas Moore
Oh, could we do with this world of ours
As thou dost with thy garden bowers,
Reject the weeds and keep the flowers,
What a heaven on earth we'd make it!
Oh, Banquet Not
© Thomas Moore
Oh, banquet not in those shining bowers,
Where Youth resorts, but come to me,
For mine's a garden of faded flowers,
More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee.
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.
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;
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.
Oh! Breathe Not His Name
© Thomas Moore
Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid:
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
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.
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.
Oh For the Swords of Former Time
© Thomas Moore
Oh for the swords of former time!
Oh for the men who bore them,
When, arm'd for Right, they stood sublime,
And tyrants crouch'd before them:
Oft, in the Stilly Night
© Thomas Moore
Oft, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me;
O'Donohue's Mistress
© Thomas Moore
Of all the fair months, that round the sun
In light-link'd dance their circles run,
Sweet May, shine thou for me;
For still, when thy earliest beams arise,
That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies,
Sweet May, returns to me.
