#IrishWriters
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…
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
Hunger points a bony finger To the workhouse on the hill, But the little children linger While there’s flowers to gather st… For my sunny window sill.
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 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,
AS I was climbing Ardan Mór From the shore of Sheelin lake, I met the herons coming down Before the water’s wake. And they were talking in their fli…
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
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,
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
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
I took a reed and blew a tune, And sweet it was and very clear To be about a little thing That only few hold dear. Three times the cuckoo named himse…
Then in the lull of midnight, gent… Lifted him slowly down the slopes… Lest he should hear again the mad… Of battle, dying moans, and painfu… And where the earth was soft for f…
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
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—
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,