#IrishWriters
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
We have fought so much for the nat… In the tents we helped to divide; Shall the cause of our common fath… On our earthstones lie denied? For the price of a field we have w…
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…
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…
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
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…
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
I called you by sweet names by woo… You answered not because my voice… And you were listening for the hou… And the long hosts of Lugh. And so, I came unto a windy heigh…
Green ripples singing down the cor… With blossoms dumb the path I tre… And in the music of the morn One with wild roses on her head. Now the green ripples turn to gold
A blackbird singing On a moss-upholstered stone, Bluebells swinging, Shadows wildly blown, A song in the wood,
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…
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…
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,