#IrishWriters
How strangely like a churchyard sk… The thing that’s there amongst the… A Hornets’ nest; but stir the bra… And they’ll be round your head and… So wary ana so weaponed,
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…
THE Thrush, the Lark, and, chief… With one small bird whose name I… Offered a Mass; the little bird w… At intervals he struck his silver… The stars above that were but whit…
‘Lost,’ ‘lost,’ the beeves and the… The cattle men sell and buy, Crowded upon the fair green, Low to the lightless sky. ‘Live,’ ‘live,’ and ‘Here,’ ‘here…
A gaunt built woman and her son-in… A broad-faced fellow, with such fl… Nothing but easy nature’and his… The woman’s daughter, who spills… Out of a wide mouth, but who has e…
THE candles lighted and the figur… Announce this to you: they are lai… The noble, whimsical and pathetic… Disanimated, not to be resumed! And still the knocks, the three, t…
I. THE TREES THERE is no glory of the sunset… Heavy the clouds upon the darkenin… And heavy, too, the wind upon the… The trees sway, making moan
You would not slumber If laid at my breast: You would not slumber. The river-flood beats The swan from her nest:
FROM THE IRISH I’d bring you these for dowry A field from heather free, White sheep upon the mountain, And calves that follow me.
O men from the fields, Come gently within. Tread softly, softly O men coming in! Mavourneen is going
How great a front is thine A lake of majesty! Assyria knew the sign The god-incarnate king! A lake of majesty
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…
I. THE PARROT AND THE F… MY Afghan poet-friend With this made his message end, ‘The scroll around my wall shows t… The parrot and falcon they
GREEN wings and yellow breasts o… That turn their heads and stare, And a red streamer tail! They come from Yucatan Where priests with clownish hats,…
WE wander now who marched before, Hawking our bran from door to door… While other men from the mill take… So it is to be an Old Soldier. Old, bare and sore, we look on the…