#IrishWriters
Men die’¦ Dreams only change their houses. They cannot be lined up against a… And quietly buried under ground, And no more heard of’¦
Dour river Jaded with monotony of lights Diving off mast heads.... Lights mad with creating in a rive… Heave up, river...
—Albert Parsons went to his death singing Annie Laurie; didn’t another have a rose in his coat–
Skyscrapers’¦ remote, unpartisan’… Turning neither to the right nor l… Your imperturbable fronts’¦. Austerely greeting the sun With one chilly finger of stone’¦…
Cool, inaccessible air Is floating in velvety blackness s… But no breath stirs the heat Leaning its ponderous bulk upon th… And most on Hester street…
The earth is motionless And poised in space’¦ A great bird resting in its flight Between the alleys of the stars. It is the wind’s hour off’¦.
Pythoness body’arching Over the night like an ecstasy’ I feel your coils tightening’¦ And the world’s lessening breath…
What of the silence of the keys And silvery hands? The iron sings… Though bows lie broken on the stri… The fly-wheels turn eternally’¦ Bring fuel - drive the fires high’…
Dance, little children... it is ho… Have you hung paper flowers about… Dance soft . . . but very gaily...… Spread your little pinafores And courtesy as the snow does . .…
Can you see me, Sasha? I can see you.... A tentacle of the vast dawn is res… that floats as though detached in a sultry and greenish vapor.
The woman with jewels sits in the… Spraying light like a fountain. Diamonds glitter on her bulbous fi… And on her arms, great as thighs, Diamonds gush from her ear-lobes o…
It is dark’¦ so dark, I remember… It is still’¦ so still, I hear t… Ten times we had watched the moon Rise like a thin white virgin out… And round into a full maternity’¦
I love those spirits That men stand off and point at, Or shudder and hood up their souls… Those ruined ones, Where Liberty has lodged an hour
There is music in the strong Deep-throated bush, Whisperings of song Heard in the leaves’ hush - Ballads of the trees
Will you feast with me, American… But what have I that shall seem g… On my board are bitter apples And honey served on thorns, And in my flagons fluid iron,