Explore "Tim Moore" by James McIntyre on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Moore found the ballads of Green Isle / Were oft obscured beneath the soil, / As miner digging in a mine / Finds rubbish 'mong the gold so fine, / So Moore placed dross in the waste basket / And enshrined jewels in casket, / Where all may view each charming gem / In Ireland's grand old diadem.
In eastern lands his fame prevails / In wondrous oriental tales, / So full of gems his Lala Rookh, / Hindus and Brahmins read his book, / And dark eyed Persian girls admire / The beauty of his magic lyre, / Glowing like pearls of great price / Those distant gleams of paradise.