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Poem by Thomas Moore


The Evening Gun


Rememberst thou that setting sun,
  	The last I saw with thee,
When loud we heard the evening gun
	Peal oer the twilight sea?
Boom!  the sounds appeared to sweep
  	Far oer the verge of day,
Till, into realms beyond the deep,
  	They seemed to die away.

Oft, when the toils of day are done,
  	In pensive dreams of thee,
I sit to hear that evening gun,
  	Peal oer the stormy sea.
Boom!  and while, oer billows curled.
  	The distant sounds decay,
I weep and wish, from this rough world
  	Like them to die away.



Thomas Moore


Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. The Song of Fionnuala
  2. Ode To The Goddess Ceres
  3. There Are Sounds Of Mirth
  4. Oh, The Sight Entrancing
  5. Take Back The Virgin Page


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