#IrishWriters
Broom out the floor now, lay the f… And plant this bee-sucked bough of… And let the window down. The butt… Floats in upon the sunbeam, and th… Tanned face of June, the nomad gi…
He shall not hear the bittern cry In the wild sky, where he is lain, Nor voices of the sweeter birds, Above the wailing of the rain. Nor shall he know when loud March…
When May is here, and every morn Is dappled with pied bells, And dewdrops glance along the thor… And wings flash in the dells, I take my pipe and play a tune
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…
I saw her coming through the flowe… Round her swift ankles butterfly a… Blent loud and silent wings ; I s… Where foam-bows shivered on the su… Then came the swallow crowding up…
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,
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
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…
Du aldrig vil elske? Til Stella j… en Morgen i Vaar, da jeg hos hend… mens Solen steeg over Hækken og… med Purpur i Duggen hvert skielve… Nei, svared hun, aldrig! Thi Elsk…
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,
Who would hear the fairy horn Calling all the hounds of Finn Must be in a lark’s nest born When the moon is very thin. I who have the gift can hear
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…
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,
Now leafy winds are blowing cold, And South by West the sun goes do… A quiet huddles up the fold In sheltered corners of the brown. Like scattered fire the wild fruit…
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