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Song

by Thomas Moore
the greatest Irish lyrist
born Dublin, 1779 - died 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!

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Of all the violence in this world, the violence on "God's behalf" is the most horrible. Not only the people of Ireland, but the people of the Middle East.

This blunt-lined poem with its frightened meter demonstrates the life-changing experience of seeing the innocent die without cause.

What are the words, Walter, from the song "Christmas in the Trenches"?

My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas come since World War I, I've learned its lessons well
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same


God bless, my Friend. Were the people to allow it, poets could save this world.
Frank,

I am always humbled and awestruck by your quick and insightful response. Your breadth of knowledge and quick recall of comparative verse is truly remarkable. Lucky are we to have your talent on LI.

Thanks . . . Walter
I see you in the same light, Man of the North.
Frank,

‘Christmas in the Trenches’

I think you will enjoy this version sung by John McDermott. John is a Canadian singer, originally from Glasgow, and the CD is ‘Remembrance’.

Sorry, didn’t know how to upload it directly to your page.

Walter . . .

P.S. Pierre . . . You may know this singer - I know you too will enjoy the song.
Attachments:
To Deragon and Walter -- poets and lovers of poetry, I dedicate this O'Shaughnessy poem (which, by the way, became a song in the movie Willy Wonka).

WE are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
Frank,

Great posting! Love O’Shaughnessy‘s poem . . . speaks to my heart. Oh that we all could truly be ’music makers’ and ‘dreamer(s) of dreams’ and ‘shake the world with deathless ditties’. Wonderful to have a forum like this - I continue to be informed. Thanks. Hope springs eternal!

Walter . . .
Pierre,

Thanks for the post of Derek Mahon’s poem . . . my education continues.

I was prompted to do a little further research and was surprised to learn the extent of Mahon's academic background and comprehensive resume. Given that he is a compatriot from Belfast my interest is significantly heightened.

Great talent – interesting study.

Walter . . .
Dear Mr Daub, that is one of my favorite poems. I could read it over and over. There is so much truth to it. Thanks
I absolutely love that poem!
I quote (or paraphrase) Moore in the last verse of my song "Over The Canyon" which is up on my page. I had the song kicking around for about a year and felt it needed another verse to wrap up its obtuse meaning. I was reading Seamus Mcmanus's "Story of the Irish Race" and a poem by Thomas Moore was in it. As I read it I heard the melody of my old song waiting in the wings. I could argue the subject matter was similar so I finagled some of the lines and finished my song.
Enjoyed listeningt to you sing--are your ancestors from Dongal? You look like my relatives!
Dear Literary Friends

Did you know that James Joyce, the grand Irish novelist and expatriate from Ireland, wrote poetry? I came across some of his work yesterday and thought I would post a Joycean poem. To Walter and Pierre: Live on, good messengers of history's wisest words. Take poetry to the masses; may poets be the lords.

Simples by James Joyce

Of cool sweet dew and radiance mild
The moon a web of silence weaves
In the still garden where a child
Gathers the simple salad leaves.

A moondew stars her hanging hair
And moonlight kisses her young brow
And, gathering, she sings an air:
Fair as the wave is, fair, art thou!

Be mine, I pray, a waxen ear
To shield me from her childish croon
And mine a shielded heart for her
Who gathers simples of the moon.

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