#IrishWriters
Oh! do not rudely wake her, nor re… Those pulsing limbs for this hosti… To timid life, that cast in death-… What he had moulded for his ecstas… Nay! rather pity one so keen to le…
A Ballad of Good Intentions Four children played by an old oak… Big John and James and little Be… And, threading a chain of daisies… On the leaf-brown sward knelt Ger…
Kine, kine, in the meadows, why do… High is the grass to your knees an… Sweet with the perfume of honey, a… But the sad-eyed kine on the hills… ‘Man, man has bereft us and taken…
I wish I were over the Curlew Mo… Marching to Sligo by valley and f… I wish I were back in the years o… Tramping the rough roads with him… I wish that I stood upon Yellow…
Up in the cave of the wind, All bent and crabbed with their ye… In endless chatter they sit, Old Distaff, Spindle, and Shears… And they caught a mother’s song
When first you came to London Tow… Just five years old, I said’'He’ll ask for marble ha… All paved with gold!’ I thought’'He’ll weep, so stric…
I, like a moth to the candle, Am chained by a glance from your e… If I shun you, the world is in da… If I seek my desire, I die. I hide 'neath the wings of my fanc…
They lit a fire within their land… With splendid dreams they made it… They saw thy slowly paling cheek a… They bade thee live once more, Ka… And who dare quench the sacred fir…
Upon the shore young Una lies, A smile upon her mouth; Soft breezes kiss her heavy hair, Slow blowing from the South. Within the cabin on the hill
Madge Linsey at the well raised t… Brimmed her brass bucket full, wen… Loose hung her collar her full thr… Rough fell her silken hair, sullen… Went down the village street jaunt…
Before my time my kindred were As felons in their land, Because they claimed the liberty That freemen understand. Ere I was born in Dublin town
I know of a thrush’s nest, a prett… I know of a thrush’s nest with thr… It is in the perfumed pine, the ta… It is in the cool dark wood that… I know of a speckled trout, a nobl…
Weep no more, heart of my heart, n… The night has passed and the dawn… The cuckoo calls from the budding… And tells us that Spring is near. Sorrow no more, beloved, no more!
The oak is a brave tree that growe… The oak, and the pine, and the asp… Strong his mighty timbers, that ha… Safe he carries the sailor on the… Through the storm and through the…
‘The World were a place to play i… ‘The playground of the present; al… No past is ours to sorrow, No clouding thought of morrow, And joy is slow in passing where w…