#IrishWriters
When I was young I had a care Lest I should cheat me of my shar… Of that which makes it sweet to st… For life, and dying still survive, A name in sunshine written higher
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,
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…
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,
And Gwydion said to Math, when it… “Come now and let us make a wife f… And so they broke broad boughs yet… And in a shadow made a magic ring: They took the violet and the meado…
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…
Lady fair, have we not met In our lives elsewhere? Darkling in my mind to-night Faint fair faces dare Memory’s old unfaithfulness
Little ships of whitest pearl With sailors who were ancient king… Come over the sea when my little g… Sings. And if my little girl should weep,
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
Somewhere is music from the linnet… And thro’ the sunny flowers the be… And white bells of convolvulus on… Of quiet May make silent ringing,… Hither and thither by the wind of…
A blackbird singing On a moss-upholstered stone, Bluebells swinging, Shadows wildly blown, A song in the wood,
I heard the Poor Old Woman say: “At break of day the fowler came, And took my blackbirds from their… Who loved me well thro’ shame and… No more from lovely distances
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…
Had I a golden pound to spend, My love should mend and sew no mor… And I would buy her a little quer… Easy to turn on the kitchen floor. And for her windows curtains white…
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