Dah Duit (Hi) and welcome

Did Not

by Thomas Moore

'Twas a new feeling - something more
Than we had dared to own before,
Which then we hid not;
We saw it in each other's eye,
And wished, in every half-breathed sigh,
She felt my lips' impassioned touch -
'Twas the first time I dared so much,
And yet she chid not;
But whispered o'er my burning brow,
'Oh, do you doubt I love you now?'
Sweet soul! I did not.
Warmly I felt her bosom thrill,
I pressed it closer, closer still,
Though gently bid not;
Till - oh! the world hath seldom heard
 lovers, who so
And yet, who did not.

The sorrow of love

The Sorrow of Love


William Butler Yeats
The quarrel of the sparrow in the eaves,
The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,
Had hid away earth's old and weary cry.
And then you came with those red mournful lips,
And with you came the whole of the world's tears,
And all the sorrows of her labouring ships,
And all the burden of her myriad years.
And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,
The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,
And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,
Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.




Thomas Moore

Dublin, 1779 - 1852
Have you not seen the timid tear
Steal trembling from mine eye?
Have you not mark'd the flush of fear,
Or caught the murmur'd sigh?
And can you think my love is chill,
Nor fix'd on you alone?
And can you rend, by doubting still,
A heart so much your own?
To you my soul's affections move
Devoutly, warmly, true:
My life has been a task of love,
One long, long thought of you.
If all your tender faith is o'er,
If still my truth you'll try;
Alas! I know but one proof more -
I'll bless your name, and die!

Her Praise

Her Praise


William Butler Yeats

She is foremost of those that I would hear praised.

I have gone about the house, gone up and down
As a man does who has published a new book,
Or a young girl dressed out in her new gown,
And though I have turned the talk by hook or crook
Until her praise should be the uppermost theme,
A woman spoke of some new tale she had read,
A man confusedly in a half dream
As though some other name ran in his head.
She is foremost of those that I would hear praised.
I will talk no more of books or the long war
But walk by the dry thorn until I have found

Some beggar sheltering from the wind, and there
Manage the talk until her name come round.
If there be rags enough he will know her name
And be well pleased remembering it, for in the old days,

Though she had young men's praise and old men's blame,
Among the poor both old and young gave her praise.

When You Are Old

When You Are Old


William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

The Ragged Wood

The Ragged Wood


William Butler Yeats

O, hurry, where by water, among the trees,

The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh,

When they have looked upon their images

Would none had ever loved but you and I!

Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed

Pale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky,

When the sun looked out of his golden hood?

O, that none ever loved but you and I!

O hurry to the ragged wood, for there

I will drive all those lovers out and cry

O, my share of the world, O, yellow hair!

No one has ever loved but you and I.

The Passing of the Gael

The Passing of the Gael

From Ethna Carbery's "The Four Winds of Eirinn"

They are going, going, going from the valleys and the hills

They are leaving far behind them heathery moor and mountain rills,

All the wealth of hawthorn hedges where the brown thrush sways and thrills

They are going, shy-eyed cailins, and lads so straight and tall

From the purple peaks of Kerry, from the crags of wild Imaal,

From the greening plains of Mayo, and the glens of Dangle

They are leaving pleasant places,shores with snowy sands outspread;

Blue and lonely lakes a-stirring when the wind stirs overhead;

Tender living hearts that love them, and the graves of kindred dead

. They shall carry to the distant land a tear-drop in the eye

And some shall go uncomforted, their days an endless sigh

For Kathalen No Houlihan's sad face until they die.

Oh,Kathaleen No Houlihan, your road's a thorny way,

And 'tis a faithful soul would walk on the flints with you for aye,

Would walk the sharp and cruel flints until his locks grew grey,

So some must wander to the East, and some must wander West;

Some seek the white wastes of the North and some a Southern nest;

Yet never shall they sleep so sweet as on your mother breast.

Within the city streets, hot hurried full of care

A sudden dream shall bring them a whiff of Irish air --

A cool air, faintly-scented, blown soft from otherwhere

Oh, the cabins long-deserted! Olden memories awake.

Oh, the pleasant, pleasant places! Hush! the blackbird in the brake!

Oh, the dear and kindly voices! Now their hearts are fain to ache.

And no foreign skies hold beauty like the rainy skies they knew;

Nor any night-wind cool the brow as did the foggy dew.

They are going, going, going and we cannot bid them stay:

Their fields are now the stranger's,where the stranger's cattle stray,

Oh! Kathaleen No Houlihan, your way's a thorny way!

The Four-Leaved Shamrock

The Four-Leaved Shamrock

Samuel Lover
novelist, poet, musician and artist
Born Dublin, 1797 - d. 1868

(a four-leaved Shamrock is of such rarity that it is supposed to endue the finder with magic power)

I'll seek a four-leaved shamrock in all the fairy dells,

And if I find the charmed laves, or, how I'll weave my spells!

I would not waste my magic might on diamond, pearl, or gold,

For treasure tires the weary sense, such triumph is but cold;

But I would p[lay the enchanter's part, in casting bliss around -

Oh! not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found!

To worth I would give honor! - I'd dry the mourner's tears,

And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years,

And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that had grown cold,

Should meet again - like parted streams - and mingle as of old;

Oh! thus I'd play the enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around,

And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found!

The heart that had been mourning o'er vanish'd dreams of love,

Should see them all returning - like Noah's faithful dove,

And Hope should launch her bless'd bark on Sorrow's darkening sea,

And Misery's children have an ark, and saved from sinking be;

Oh! thus I'd play the enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around,

And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found!

"Drink To Her"

"Drink To Her"

Thomas Moore

Drink to her who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh;
The girl who gave to song
What gold could never buy.
Oh! woman's heart was made
For minstrel hands alone!
By other fingers play'd,
It yields not half the tone.
Then here's to her who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh,
The girl who gave to song
What gold could never buy!
At beauty's door of glass
When wealth and wit once stood,
They ask'd her, "which might pass?"
She answer'd, "He who could."

With golden key wealth though
To pass - but 'twould not do;

While wit a diamond brought
Which cut his bright way through!
Then here's to her who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh
The girl who gave to song
What gold could never buy!
The love that seeks a home
Where wealth and grandeur shines,
Is like the gloomy gnome
That dwells in dark gold mines

 But oh! the poet's love
Can boast a brighter sphere;
Its native home's above,

though woman keeps it here!
Then drink to her who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh,

"A Dream"

"A Dream"


Thomas Moore

I thought this heart consuming lay

On Cupid's burning shrine;

I thought he stole thy heart away,

And placed it near to mine.

I saw thy heart begin to melt

Like ice before the sun;

Till both a glow congenial felt,

And mingled into one!

"The Surprise"

"The Surprise"

The Surprise by Thomas Moore

Chloris, I swear, by all I ever swore,

That from this hour I shall not love thee more -

"What! love no more? Oh! why this alter'd vow?"

Because I CANNOT love thee MORE than NOW!

"Written In The Blank Leaf Of A Lady's Common-Place Book"

"Written In The Blank Leaf Of A Lady's Common-Place Book"
by Thomas Moore

Here is one leaf reserved for me,

From all thy sweet memorials free;

And here my simple song might tell

The feelings thou must guess so well.

But could I thus, within thy mind,

One little vacant corner find,

Where no impression yet is seen,

Where no memorial yet has been,

Oh! it should be my sweetest care

To write my name forever there!