#IrishWriters
NOR War nor Peace, forever, old… But Strength my theme, whose song… The People’s Strength, the deep a… Of truths that seethe below the tr… The buried ruins of dead empires s…
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…
THERE is blood on the face of th… It reeks through the years, and is… Where Truth was slaughtered at bi… And the veins of Liberty bled. Lo! vain is the hand that tries
A SOFT-BREASTED bird from th… Fell in love with the light-house… And it wheeled round the tower on… And floated and cried like a lovel… It brooded all day and it fluttere…
IN the far time of Earth’s sweet… When Morning hung with rapture on… When every sentient life paid love… And every law was Nature’s own be… When reason ruled as subtle instin…
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…
Though it lash the shallows that l… Afar from the great sea deeps, There is never a storm whose might… Where the vast leviathan sleeps. Like a mighty thought in a quiet m…
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:…
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.
THERE once was a pirate, greedy… Who ravaged for gain, and saved th… Till his coffers were bursting wit… And millions of captives bore his… Then fear took hold of him, and he…
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…
There are lonesome places upon the… That have never re-echoed a sound… Where the spirits abide that feast… On the shuddering soul of a murder… And take grim delight in the fearf…
NATHAN BEANS and William Lam… Known from infancy to revel only i… Many a mother of Nantucket bristl… With a horrid skulking whistle, te… But for all maternal bristling lit…
The bees are in the meadow And the swallows in the sky; The cattle in the shadow Watch the river running by. The wheat is hardly stirring;
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…