#IrishWriters #Victorian
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…
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…
To stab my youth with desperate kn… This paltry age’s gaudy livery, To let each base hand filch my tre… To mesh my soul within a woman’s h… And be mere Fortune’s lackeyed gr…
Now when the darkness came over th… having lighted a torch of pinewood… the valley. For he had business in… And kneeling on the flint stones o… a young man who was naked and weep…
LIKE burnt—out torches by a sick… Gaunt cypress—trees stand round th… Here doth the little night—owl mak… And the slight lizard show his jew… And, where the chaliced poppies fl…
HE was a Grecian lad, who coming… With pulpy figs and wine from Sic… Stood at his galley’s prow, and le… Blow through his crisp brown curls… And holding wave and wind in boy’s…
O beautiful star with the crimson… O moon with the brows of gold! Rise up, rise up, from the odorous… And light for my love her way, Lest her little feet should stray
The little white clouds are racing… And the fields are strewn with the… The daffodil breaks under foot, an… Sways and swings as the thrush goe… A delicate odour is borne on the w…
THE silent room, the heavy creepi… The dead that travel fast, the ope… The murdered brother rising throug… The ghost’s white fingers on thy s… And then the lonely duel in the gl…
THE Gods are dead: no longer do… To grey—eyed Pallas crowns of oli… Demeter’s child no more hath tithe… And in the noon the careless sheph… For Pan is dead, and all the want…
I have no store Of gryphon—guarded gold; Now, as before, Bare is the shepherd’s fold. Rubies nor pearls
O well for him who lives at ease With garnered gold in wide domain, Nor heeds the splashing of the rai… The crashing down of forest trees.… O well for him who ne’er hath know…
IT is full summer now, the heart… Not yet the sun—burnt reapers are… Upon the upland meadow where too s… Rich autumn time, the season’s usu… Will lend his hoarded gold to all…
ALBEIT nurtured in democracy, And liking best that state republi… Where every man is Kinglike and n… Is crowned above his fellows, yet… Spite of this modern fret for Lib…
THE sea is flecked with bars of g… The dull dead wind is out of tune, And like a withered leaf the moon Is blown across the stormy bay. Etched clear upon the pallid sand