#IrishWriters
THEN, suddenly, I was aware inde… Of what he said, and was revolving… How, in the night, crows often tak… Rising from off the tree-tops in… And flying on: I pictured what he…
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…
Two men of art, they say, were wit… Of Milé,—a poet and a harp player… When Milé, having taken Ireland,… The land to his sons’ rule; the po… Cir, and fair Cendfind was the ha…
OTHERS have divers paints and e… Lavish and bright on breast and wi… You, Guatemalan, have sunken all… Into glory of greenness! There may be palms as greenly resp…
‘THE blackbird’s in the briar, The seagull’s on the ground– They are nests, and they’re more t… ‘They are tokens I have found. There, where the rain-dashed briar
An age being mathematical, these f… Of linear stalks and spheroid bloo… By men with wakened, speculative m… And when with mathematics they exp… The Macrocosm, and came at last t…
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…
The moon-cradle’s rocking and rock… Where a cloud and a cloud goes by: Silently rocking and rocking, The moon-cradle out in the sky. The hound’s in his loop by the fir…
ARCH-SCHOLAR they’ll call you… Kuno Mayer, Who know the word Behind the word The men of learning . . .
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
Two little creatures with faces the size of a pair of pennies are clasping each other “Ah do not leave me”
‘TO-NIGHT,’ you said, ‘to-night… The curlews call.’ The dinner-tal… And I knew what you heard and wha… That left you for a little while w… The lonely land, the lonely-crying…
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…
As I went down through Dublin cit… At the hour of twelve of the night… Who did I see but a Spanish lady Washing her feet by candle light. First she washed them,
‘BELOW there are white-faced thr… Their march is a tide coming High… Below there are white-faced throng… Their faith is a banner flung high… Below there are white-faced throng…