#IrishWriters #Victorian
NAY, let us walk from fire unto f… From passionate pain to deadlier d… I am too young to live without des… Too young art thou to waste this s… Asking those idle questions which…
From his childhood he had been as… knowledge of God, and even while h… saints, as well as certain holy wo… his birth, had been stirred to muc… his answers.
When Narcissus died the pool of h… sweet waters into a cup of salt te… through the woodland that they mig… comfort. And when they saw that the pool ha…
I reached the Alps: the soul with… Italia, my Italia, at thy name: And when from out the mountain’s h… And saw the land for which my life… I laughed as one who some great pr…
DEAR Heart I think the young im… When first he takes from out the h… His God imprisoned in the Euchari… And eats the bread, and drinks the… Feels not such awful wonder as I…
I am weary of lying within the cha… When the knights are meeting in ma… Nay, go not thou to the red—roofed… Lest the hoofs of the war—horse tr… But I would not go where the Squi…
RID of the world’s injustice, and… He rests at last beneath God’s ve… Taken from life when life and love… The youngest of the martyrs here i… Fair as Sebastian, and as early s…
AS one who poring on a Grecian ur… Scans the fair shapes some Attic… God with slim goddess, goodly man… And for their beauty’s sake is lot… And face the obvious day, must I…
A RING of gold and a milk—white… Are goodly gifts for thee, And a hempen rope for your own lov… To hang upon a tree. For you a House of Ivory
I STOOD by the unvintageable se… Till the wet waves drenched face a… The long red fires of the dying da… Burned in the west; the wind piped… And to the land the clamorous gull…
The seasons send their ruin as the… For in the spring the narciss show… Nor withers till the rose has flam… And in the autumn purple violets b… And the slim crocus stirs the wint…
These are the letters which Endym… To one he loved in secret and apar… And now the brawlers of the auctio… Bargain and bid for each poor blot… Aye! for each separate pulse of pa…
To outer senses there is peace, A dreamy peace on either hand Deep silence in the shadowy land, Deep silence where the shadows cea… Save for a cry that echoes shrill
This winter air is keen and cold, And keen and cold this winter sun, But round my chair the children ru… Like little things of dancing gold… Sometimes about the painted kiosk
To that gaunt House of Art which… Of all the great things men have s… The withered body of a girl was br… Dead ere the world’s glad youth ha… And seen by lonely Arabs lying hi…