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With what a deep devotedness of woe I wept thy absence - o'er and o'er again Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain, And memory, like a drop that, night and day, Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!

Thomas Moore

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Thomas Moore
Born: 1779
Born: May 28
Comedy Writer
Composer
Conductor
Historian
Jurist
Lyricist
Musician
Novelist
Performing Artist
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Singer
Songwriter
Writer
Dublin city
Tom Moore
Anacreon Moore
Thomas
the younger Brown
Thomas Little
Thomas Mur
Tomas Mur
Thomas Brown
Thomas Brown the younger
Stills
Cold
Sympathy
Still
Grew
Falls
Heart
Memories
Drop
Ceaseless
Thinking
Pain
Till
Condolences
Like
Fall
Absence
Wept
Away
Thee
Woe
Night
Memory
Wore
Thought
Deep
Grieving

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You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
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We let a river shower its banks with a spirit that invades the people living there, and we protect that river, knowing that without its blessings the people have no source of soul.
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The past, the future: - two eternities!
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Humility, that low, sweet root, from which all heavenly virtues shoot.
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How many times do we lose an occasion for soul work by leaping ahead to final solutions without pausing to savor the undertones? We are a radically bottom-line society, eager to act and to end tension, and thus we lose opportunities to know ourselves for our motives and our secrets.
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Fond memory brings the light of other days around me.
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Usually, the main problem with life conundrums is that we don't bring to them enough imagination
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A philosopher being asked what was the first thing necessary to win the love of a woman, answered, Opportunity!
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Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam.
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From plants that wake when others sleep, from timid jasmine buds that keep their odour to themselves all day, but when the sunlight dies away let the delicious secret out to every breeze that roams about.
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A friendship that like love is warm A love like friendship, steady.
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It is quite cruel that a poet cannot wander through his regions of enchantment without having a critic, forever, like the old man of the sea, upon his back.
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I have plenty of machinery around me what I really need is a more enchanting world in which to live and work.
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Bastard Freedom waves Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.
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Every season hath its pleasure Spring may boast her flowery prime, Yet the vineyard's ruby treasuries Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time.
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The problem in narcissism is not the high ideals and ambitions, it's the difficulty one encounters when trying to give them body.
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Came but for friendship, and took away love.
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The young May moon is beaming, love. The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love. How sweet to rove, Through Morna's grove, When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! Then awake! - the heavens look bright, my dear, 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!
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In our prayer and meditation we hope for fulfilling ordinary life.
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Disguise our bondage as we will, 'Tis woman, woman, rules us still.
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