#Irish
ON the third day from this (Saint… I will be where no wind that fille… Has ever been, and it blew high or… For from this home-creek, from thi… I shall put forth: make ready, you…
FIRST GIRL MALLO lero iss im bo nero! Go where they’re threshing and fin… Mallo lero iss im bo bairn! SECOND GIRL
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…
HERE you should lie, ye Kings of… Barbarossa, Boabdil, And Czar Lazar and Charlemagne, Arthur, Gaelic Finn– Here where the
Of the Irish, Paris THE Lombards having gone back to… We, who might never flock to nativ… Except like birds that fly like fu… Desperately, in a wind across the…
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…
THE birds that soar break space Like heavy bodies hurled! Not so the birds of night They move as in a sphere On which they touch always
I’LL be an otter, and I’ll let y… A mate beside me; we will venture… A deep, full river when the sky ab… Is shut of the sun; spoilers are w… Thick-coated; no dog’s tooth can b…
THE Plovers fly and cry around, Unguided, nestless, without bourn, Wandering and impetuous, Turning and flying to return. These wild birds seen on Ireland’…
The Swallows sang ALIEN to us are Your fields, and your cotes, and y… Secret our nests are Although they be built in your eav…
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,
IN companies or lone They bend their heads, their hands They busy with their gear, Accomplishing the stitch That turns the stocking-heel,
THEY have hanged Roger Casement… of a bell, Ochone, och, ochone, ochone! And their Smiths, and their Murra… Ochone, och, ochone, ochone!
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…
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!