#IrishWriters
I was just coming in from the gard… Or about to go fishing for eels, And, smiling, I asked you to pard… My boots very low at the heels. And I thought that you never woul…
All the dead kings came to me At Rosnaree, where I was dreaming… A few stars glimmered through the… And down the thorn the dews were s… And every dead king had a story
Una Bawn, the days are long, And the seas I cross are wide, I must go when Ireland needs, And you must bide. And should I not return to you
I saw you and I named a flower That lights with blue a woodland s… I named a bird of the red hour And a hidden fairy place. And then I saw you not, and knew
He will not come, and still I wai… He whistles at another gate Where angels listen. Ah I know He will not come, yet if I go How shall I know he did not pass
God made my mother on an April da… From sorrow and the mist along the… Lost birds’ and wanderers’ songs a… And the moon loved her wandering j… Beside the ocean’s din she combed…
Powdered and perfumed the full bee Winged heavily across the clover, And where the hills were dim with… Purple and blue the west leaned ov… A willow spray dipped in the strea…
When I leave down this pipe my fr… And sleep with flowers I loved, a… My songs shall rise in wilding thi… Whose roots are in my heart. And here where that sweet poet sle…
The rushes nod by the river As the winds on the loud waves go, And the things they nod of are man… For it’s many the secret they know… And I think they are wise as the…
Maiden-poet, come with me To the heaped up cairn of Maeve, And there we’ll dance a fairy danc… Upon a fairy’s grave. In and out among the trees,
I walk the old frequented ways That wind around the tangled braes… I live again the sunny days Ere I the city knew. And scenes of old again are born,
My mind is not my mind, therefore I take no heed of what men say, I lived ten thousand years before God cursed the town of Nineveh. The Present is a dream I see
He knows the safe ways and unsafe And he will lead the lambs to fold… Gathering them with his merry pipe… The gentle and the overbold. He counts them over one by one,
When you come in, it seems a brigh… Crackles upon the hearth invitingl… The household routine which was wo… Grows full of novelty. You sit upon our home-upholstered…
THE silence of maternal hills Is round me in my evening dreams; And round me music-making rills And mingling waves of pastoral str… Whatever way I turn I find