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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

Poem Theme: Evening

Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 64
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 70
  3. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 3
  4. From Irish Melodies. 85. Oh For the Swords of Former Time
  5. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 65

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