#Irish #XIXCentury
A MAN is not the slave of circum… Or need not be, but builder and di… He makes his own events, not time… Their logic his: not creature, but…
Poets should not reason: Let them sing! Argument is treason— Bells should ring. Statements none, nor questions;
I WROTE down my troubles every… And after a few short years, When I turned to the heart-aches… I read them with smiles, not tears…
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…
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…
WHERE shall we seek for a hero,… Our laurels are wreathed for conqu… But we honor a shrine unfinished,… If we sing the deed that was sown… Shall we take for a sign this Neg…
I’D rather live in Bohemia than i… For only there are the values true… And the laurels gathered in all me… The prizes of traffic and state ar… By shrewdness or force or by deeds…
AS grains from chaff, I sift thes… Kernels of wisdom, from the husks… Benevolence befits the wisest mind… But he who has not studied to be k… Who grants for asking, gives witho…
HER hair was a waving bronze, and… Deep wells that might cover a broo… And who, till he weighed it, could… That her heart was a cinder instea…
‘TWAS a dismal winter’s evening,… But within, the cheerful fire cast… O’er our pleasant little parlor, t… There she sat beside the glowing g… And beyond, within the shadow, in…
A CITY of Palaces! Yes, that’s… Look down this street—what a splen… Just glance at the wealth of a sin… The carving and cornice in gaudy s… And think of the acres of inner fl…
I KNEW it all my boyhood: in a l… Like a dryad’s mirror hidden by th… Its eye flashed back the sunshine,… And I loved its truthful depths w… I scooped my hand and drank it, an…
DIXON, a Choctaw, twenty years… Had killed a miner in a Leadville… Tried and condemned, the rough-bea… And watch him stride in freedom fr… ‘Return on Friday, to be shot to…
’Twas a quaint old clock with a qu… and great iron weights and chain. It stopped when it liked, and befo… it creaked as if ’twere in pain. It had seen many years, and it see…
Well, mate, you’ve asked about a f… You met to-day, in a black-and-yel… Chain-gang suit, with a peddler’s… Or with some such burden, strapped… Did you meet him square? No, pass…
