Here, in the silent churchyard, 'm… Weary I sit for a moment clasping… Weary of worldly passions of selfi… Grant me the shade of thy wings,… Weary of smiling faces when the he…

On the dry brown bough The withered leaves still cling In their last desperate hold And ceaseless murmuring. They push the swinging branch

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

Sweet Content, at the rich man’s… Called, ‘Wilt thou let me in?’ ‘No! thou art poor and thou art no… Hast nothing thy way to win. Here love is little and mighty is…

The wind knocks at the window, And my heart is full of fear, For I know when it is calling That some evil thing is near. It whispers in the chimney,

Lord! when they came and stood upo… With ‘One is dead,’ I paused awhi… In brief thanksgiving that I stil… On the good earth that had so much… Through my sweet garden softly did…

It was the Christmas of the year; The wind blew chill, the night was… And round the strong walls of the… The silent snow fell white and dee… But well the Baron’s board was sp…

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…

I saw Winter 'neath a spindle tre… She plucked berries bright to crow… She was singing little robin’s son… While wild beech-leaves round and… I ran home into my little house,

Deep in the moving depths Of yellow wine, I swore I’d drown your face, O love of mine; All clad in yellow hue,

She had hair gold as her father’s… She tripped and sung, Like to a little lamb new-born, So gay, so young. She gathered lone in the long day’…

Wirastrua, wirastrua, woe to me th… The corpse has spoken from out his… ‘Yesternight my burning brain Throbbed and beat on the strings o… Now I rest, all my dreaming’s don…

Sick I am and sorrowful, how can… Here, where fog and darkness is, a… Practising for evil sport? If you… Hatred comes into each face, and s… How I dread the sound of guns, ha…

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…

When I was a merry young fellow I loved the red juice of the grape… I would drink till I grew gay and… From Morpheus I could not escape. I would give myself freely to slum…