#IrishWriters
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…
DEAD, with his harness on him: Rigid and cold and white, Marking the place of the vanguard Still in the ancient fight. The climber dead on the hill-side,
O THE rare spring flowers! take… Do not wait forsummer buds—they ma… Every sweet to-day sends, we are w… Roses bloom for pulling: the path…
IN the old Rabbinical stories, So old they might well be true,— The sacred tales of the Talmud, That David and Solomon knew,— There is one of the Father Abram,
ENSIGN EPPS, at the battle of… Sowed a seed of glory and duty That flowers and flames in height… Like a crimson lily with heart of… To-day, when the wars of Ghent ar…
DO not praise: a smile is payment… Who shall paint the mote’s glad ra… Nay, nor smile, for blind is eyesi… From the silence, from the twiligh… Songs were born before the singer:…
IT is sweet to rejoice for a day,… For a day that is reached at last! It is well for wanderers in new la… Slow climbers toward a lofty mount… Yearning with hearts and eyes stra…
AN INCIDENT OF THE F… NO song of a soldier riding down To the raging fight from Winchest… No song of a time that shook the e… With the nations’ throe at a natio…
LOVE is a plant with double root… And of strange, elastic power: Men’s minds are divided in naming… But a kiss is only the flower.
A KING once made a gallery of ar… With portraits of dead friends and… And at the end, ‘neath curtains dr… An empty marble pedestal was place… Here, every day, the king would co…
BLESSED are Pain, the smiter, And Sorrow, the uniter! For one afflicted lies— A symboled sacrifice— And all our rancor dies!
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…
“Come, sing a new song to her here… They cry to her sons who sing; And one sings: ‘ Mavourneen, it m… To think how the sorrows cling, Like the clouds on your mountains,…
HE gathered cherry-stones, and ca… Into fine semblances of flies and… With subtle skill, he even imaged… The forms of tiny maids and ivied… His little blocks he loved to file…
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…