Thomas Moore - Sweet Quotes

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As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean
Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,
So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee.

As still to the star of its worship, though clouded,
The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,
So dark when I roam in this wintry world shrouded,
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee.

Thomas Moore
But there's nothing half so sweet in life
As love's young dream.

Thomas Moore
To live with them is far less sweet
Than to remember thee.

Thomas Moore
There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream,
And the nightingale sings round it all the day long;
In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream,
To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.

Thomas Moore
There is nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dreams.

Thomas Moore
Who has not felt how sadly sweet
The dream of home, the dream of home,
Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet,
When far o'er sea or land we roam?

Thomas Moore
There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet.

Thomas Moore
Humility, that low, sweet root
From which all heavenly virtues shoot.

Thomas Moore
All that's bright must fade,—
The brightest and the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made,
But to be lost when sweetest.

Thomas Moore
'T is sweet to think that where'er we rove
We are sure to find something blissful and dear;
And that when we 're far from the lips we love,
We've but to make love to the lips we are near.

Thomas Moore
Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells
Of youth and home, and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime!

Thomas Moore
The humble rosemary Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed To scent the desert and the dead.

Thomas Moore
Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood And those that under Araby's soft sun Build their high nests of budding cinnamon.

Thomas Moore
Anemones and Seas of Gold, And new-blown lilies of the river, And those sweet flow'rets that unfold Their buds on Camadera's quiver...

Thomas Moore