#IrishWriters
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
Once more the lark with song and s… Cleaves through the dawn, his hurr… Fall, like the flute of Ganymede Twirling and whistling from the st… The primrose and the daffodil
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
Before you leave my hands’ abuses To lie where many odd things meet… Neglected darkling of the Muses, I, the last of singers, greet you. Snug in some white wing they found…
When the clouds shake their hyssop… Like holy water falls upon the pla… ’Tis sweet to gaze upon the spring… And see your harvest born. And sweet the little breeze of mel…
Every night at Currabwee Little men with leather hats Mend the boots of Faery From the tough wings of the bats. So my mother told to me,
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
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…
I will come no more awhile, Song-time is over. A fire is burning in my heart, I was ever a rover. You will hear me no more awhile,
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…
Come, May, and hang a white flag… Make truce with earth and heaven;… Now hides her sulky face deep in t… Of your new flowers by the water w… And in the ripples of the rising g…
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
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,
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…
Old lame Bridget doesn’t hear Fairy music in the grass When the gloaming’s on the mere And the shadow people pass: Never hears their slow grey feet