#IrishWriters
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
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…
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…
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…
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…
Because you have no fear to mingle Wings with those of greater part, So like me, with song I single Your sweet impudence of heart. And when prouder feathers go where
She paved the way with perfume swe… Of flowers that moved like winds a… And never weary grew my feet Wandering through[the spring’s del… She dropped her sweet fife to her…
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…
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,
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,
Quiet miles of golden sky, And in my heart a sudden flower. I want to clap my hands and cry For Beauty in her secret bower. Quiet golden miles of dawn—
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
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
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…
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