#Irish #Women
Bountiful Givers, I look along the years And see the flowers you threw’¦ Anemones And sprigs of gray
I wonder how it would be here with you, where the wind that has shaken off its dust in lo… touches one cleanly,
Your love was like moonlight turning harsh things to beauty, so that little wry souls reflecting each other obliquely as in cracked mirrors’¦ beheld in your luminous spirit their own r...
A late snow beats With cold white fists upon the ten… Hurriedly drawing blinds and shutt… Like tall old slatterns Pulling aprons about their heads.
That was a great night we spied up… See-sawing home, Singing a hot sweet song to the su… Shuffling off behind the smoke-haz… Fog-horns sentimentalizing on the…
Undulant rustlings, Of oncoming silk, Rhythmic, incessant, Like the motion of leaves… Fragments of color
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
Come forth, you workers! Let the fires go cold’ Let the iron spill out, out of the… Let the iron run wild Like a red bramble on the floors’…
Nasal intonations of light and clicking tongues... publicity of windows stoning me with pent-up cries... smells of abattoirs...
TIME-STONE Hallo, Metropolitan’ Ubiquitous windows staring all way… Red eye notching the darkness. No use to ogle that slip of a moon…
Long vast shapes... cooled and flu… Lidless windows Glazed with a flashy luster From some little pert café chirpin… And down among iron guts
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 ....
Small towns Crawling out of their green shirts… Tubercular towns Coughing a little in the dawn... And the church...
In a little Hungarian cafe Men and women are drinking Yellow wine in tall goblets. Through the milky haze of the smok… The fiddler, under-sized, blond,
The old men of the world have made… To warm their trembling hands. They poke the young men in. The young men burn like withes. If one run a little way,
