#IrishWriters
Thou leanest to the shell of night… Dear lady, a divining ear. In that soft choiring of delight What sound hath made thy heart to… Seemed it of rivers rushing forth
Winds of May, that dance on the s… Dancing a ring—around in glee From furrow to furrow, while overh… The foam flies up to be garlanded, In silvery arches spanning the air…
Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried henco...
Pineapple rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a christian brother. Some school treat. Bad for their tummies. Lozenge and comfit manuf...
Before Nelson’s pillar trams slowed, shunted, changed trolley, started for Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Clonskea, Rathgar and Terenure, Palmerston Park and upper Rathmines, Sandymou...
Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty b...
From dewy dreams, my soul, arise, From love’s deep slumber and from… For lo! the treees are full of sig… Whose leaves the morn admonisheth. Eastward the gradual dawn prevails
Lightly come or lightly go: Though thy heart presage thee woe, Vales and many a wasted sun, Oread let thy laughter run, Till the irreverent mountain air
Because your voice was at my side I gave him pain, Because within my hand I held Your hand again. There is no word nor any sign
What counsel has the hooded moon Put in thy heart, my shyly sweet, Of Love in ancient plenilune, Glory and stars beneath his feet —… A sage that is but kith and kin
All day I hear the noise of water… Making moan, Sad as the sea-bird is when, going Forth alone, He hears the winds cry to the wate…
Though I thy Mithridates were, Framed to defy the poison—dart, Yet must thou fold me unaware To know the rapture of thy heart, And I but render and confess
Silently she’s combing, Combing her long hair Silently and graciously, With many a pretty air. The sun is in the willow leaves
The superior, the very reverend John Conmee S.J. reset his smooth watch in his interior pocket as he came down the presbytery steps. Five to three. Just nice time to walk to Artane. Wha...
My love is in a light attire Among the apple—trees, Where the gay winds do most desire To run in companies. There, where the gay winds stay to…