Thomas Moore
Thomas Moore
Thomas Moorewas an Irish poet, singer, songwriter, and entertainer, now best remembered for the lyrics of "The Minstrel Boy" and "The Last Rose of Summer". He was responsible, with John Murray, for burning Lord Byron's memoirs after his death. In his lifetime he was often referred to as Anacreon Moore...
NationalityIrish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth28 May 1779
CityDublin, Ireland
CountryIreland
built classic collection great history plus virtually
The Chrysler's got some real classic things in the history of photography - things that everyone would like to have - plus a lot of great contemporary work. And it's built that collection from virtually nothing into one that's world-class.
distance home garden
A few moments of silence may be all the meditation we need at times. Our homes could have a little space for withdrawal and quiet, and even a small garden could offer some distance from noise.
goal important whats-important
What's important is finding out what works for you.
cheesy-love cheesy cute-sweet-love
Came but for friendship, and took away love.
memorial-day eye soul
Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth; Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth...
sweet flower passion
Sweet flowers alone can say what passion fears revealing.
time memories past
The past, the future: - two eternities!
hands jewels gold
Rich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her hand she bore.
opportunity winning firsts
A philosopher being asked what was the first thing necessary to win the love of a woman, answered, Opportunity!
prayer inspirational-life meditation
In our prayer and meditation we hope for fulfilling ordinary life.
time memories past
When Time who steals our years away Shall steal our pleasures too, The mem'ry of the past will stay, And half our joys renew.
mothers-day mom heart
This heart, my own dear mother, bends, With love's true instinct, back to thee!
dream sweet spring
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!
depressing hate love-you
To love you was pleasant enough. And, oh! 'tis delicious to hate you!