#IrishWriters
LET be what is: why should we str… With awkward skill against a subtl… Or pin a mystery ‘neath our puny p… And vainly try to bray its secret… What boots it me to gaze at other…
THE day and night are symbols of… And each has part in all that God… There is no ill without its compen… And life and death are only light… There never beat a heart so base a…
St. Patrick’s Day WHAT a onion of hearts is the lo… When races of men in her name unit… For love of Old Erin, and love of… The boards of the Gael are full t…
WHAT song is best for the soldie… Take no heed of the words, nor cho… Let it burst out from the heart li… Natural, clear, resistless, leapin… Whether of love or hate or war or…
They brought them up from their hu… The woeful sufferers gaunt and gri… They flocked from the city’s noiso… To the Monarch’s throne to be tou… ‘For his touch,’ they whisper, ‘is…
Nor gold, nor silver are the words… Nor rich-wrought chasing on design… But rugged relics of an unknown sp… Where fortune chanced I played on… Unthought of here the critic blame…
YE white-maned waves of the Weste… That ride and roll to the strand, Ye strong-winged birds, never forc… By the gales that sweep toward lan… Ye are symbols of death, and of ho…
A GOD-LIKE face, with human lo… And tender fancy traced in every l… A god-like face, but oh, how human… Dear Keats, who love the gods the…
WE were down in the Indian Ocean… The last six months in the tropics… Five men up on the royal yards, we… And every day like its brother,'… Nothing to break the sameness: wat…
THERE is no joy all set apart fr… The opening bud has loss as well a… The brighest dewdropp gems a bendi… The rarest day has wept one little… But wholly blest the parting pain…
There may be standard weight for p… But deeper meaning it must ever ho… Thank God, there are some things… And one of these—the real worth of… The stamp of king or crown has com…
THOSE are vulgar things we pay f… While the precious and the peerles… Common debts are scored and cancel… But the debts from men to ages, th… Always see, the noblest nations ke…
Nation of sun and sin, Thy flowers and crimes are red, And thy heart is sore within While the glory crowns thy head. Land of the songless birds,
‘What is the real good?’ I ask in a musing mood. ‘Order,’ said the law court; ‘Knowledge,’ said the school; ‘Truth,’ said the wise man;
On the 5th of January,!878, three of the Irish political prisoners, who had been confined since!866, were set at liberty. The released men were received by their fellow-countrymen in Lo...