We who beg for bread as we daily t… Country lane and city street, Let us kneel and pray on the broad… To the saint with the vagrant feet… Our altar light is a buttercup bri…

The air is like a butterfly With frail blue wings. The happy earth looks at the sky And sings.

(For Amelia Josephine Burr) The road is wide and the stars are… and the breath of the night is swe… And this is the time when wanderlu… But I’m glad to turn from the ope…

In alien earth, across a troubled… His body lies that was so fair and… His mouth is stopped, with half hi… His arm is still, that struck to m… But let no cloud of lamentation be

(For Alden March) With drooping sail and pennant That never a wind may reach, They float in sunless waters Beside a sunless beach.

Severe against the pleasant arc of… The great stone box is cruelly dis… The street becomes more dreary fro… And vagrant breezes touch its wall… Here sullen convicts in their chai…

A few long-hoarded pennies in his… Behold him stand; A kilted Hedonist, perplexed and… The joy that once he had, The first delight of ownership is…

I went to gather roses and twine t… For I would make a posy, a posy f… I got an hundred roses, the loveli… From the white rose vine and the p… rose tree.

I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth’s sweet flowing… A tree that looks at God all day,

Not on the lute, nor harp of many… Shall all men praise the Master o… Our life is brief, one saith, and… And skilled must be the laureates… Silent, O lips that utter foolish…

(For Aline) Now by what whim of wanton chance Do radiant eyes know sombre days? And feet that shod in light should… Walk weary and laborious ways?

“Dulce et decorum est” The bugle echoes shrill and sweet, But not of war it sings to-day. The road is rhythmic with the feet Of men-at-arms who come to pray.

There’s a brook on the side of Gr… But there’s nothing there now but… I fished there many a Summer day… And I never quit without getting… There was a man, Dave Lilly, who…

Within the broken Vatican The murdered Pope is lying dead. The soldiers of Valerian Their evil hands are wet and red. Unarmed, unmoved, St. Laurence wa…

1 "Romantic Ireland’s dead an… 2 It’s with O’Leary in the… 3 Then, Yeats, what gave that… 4 A hue so radiantly brave? 5 There was a rain of blood th…