#IrishWriters
To Meath of the pastures, From wet hills by the sea, Through Leitrim and Longford Go my cattle and me. I hear in the darkness
NOR right, nor left, nor any road… Nor word to lift the heart in me… They leave me, who pass by me, to… care, Without a house to draw my step no…
FOUL-FEATHERED and scald-nec… They sit in evil state; Raw marks upon their breasts As on men’s wearing chains. Impure, though they may plunge
O, to have a little house! To own the hearth and stool and al… The heaped up sods against the fir… The pile of turf against the wall! To have a clock with weights and c…
WITH sapphire for her crown, And with the Libyan wine For lustre of her eyes; With azure on her feet As though she trod the skies;
WRITTEN TO THE LONDON… ‘Tira autumn sun your shadow’s flu… Upon the field where now your reap… Lo, there! And lo! Your reaper’s… Is on your forehead like a kingly…
THE Plovers fly and cry around, Unguided, nestless, without bourn, Wandering and impetuous, Turning and flying to return. These wild birds seen on Ireland’…
MOULD-COLOURED like the leaf… The autumn branch, he rises now, t… The cold eyes of the gannets see t… He has No-whither. Who was it mar… Earth from the waters? Who
I AM the Toy-maker; I have broug… As much in my plack as should fetc… I’ll array for you now my stock of… And man’s the raree will show you. Here’s a horse that is rearing to…
You had the prose of logic and of… And words to sledge an iron argume… And yet you could draw down the ou… To perch beside the ravens of your… The dreams whereby a people challe…
In The Farmer’s House I’M glad to lie on a sack of leav… By a wasted fire and take my ease. For the wind would strip me bare a… The wind would blow oul’ age upon…
AND that was when the chevaldour Through the whole of night Sang, for the moon of mid-July Made the hillside bright. Morfydd to David ap Gwillam spoke
I. CONDORS FLYING WE watched the Condors winging to… A Moon that glimmered in the blue… Around us were the Andes, and bey… Andes, the Ocean, empty like the…
I HEARD in the night the pigeon… Stirring within their nest: The wild pigeons’ stir was tender, Like a child’s hand at the breast. I cried 'O stir no more!
Jesus His Mother meets: She looks on Him and sees The Savior in Her Son: The Angel’s word comes back: Within her heart she says,