#IrishWriters
STRIDE the hill, Sower, Up to the sky ridge, Flinging the seed, Scattering, exultant! Mouthing great rhythms
You stay for a while beside me wit… Though your light limbs are as lim… Brow fair and young and tender whe… Hair bright as the breast of the e… In the space of a broken castle I…
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 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
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…
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…
First Old Man He threw his crutched stick down:… Into his face the anger flame, And he spoke viciously of one Who thwarted him—his son’s son.
THE stir of children with fresh d… And men who meet and say unguarded… And women from the coops Of drudgeries released; And standing at their doors to wat…
MY eyelids red and heavy arc With bending o’er the smold’ring p… I know the Aeneid now by heart, My Virgil read in cold and heat, In loneliness and hunger smart.
AUTUMN A GOOD stay-at-home season is A… work to be joined in by all: Though the fawns, where the bracke… The stags that were lone upon hill…
On and on, O white brother! Thunder does not daunt thee! How thou movest! By thine impulse
Pigeons that have flown down from the courts behind the orchards! Pigeons that run along the beach to take sand into your crops! What contrast is between you, birds of a rare stock, and...
HE knows Queen Lab, her isle, And black, enormous Kaf, The Swallow, and 'Allah’ He cries As into Giaour lands
THE great ship lantern-girdled. The tender standing by; The waning stars cloud-shrouded, The land that we descry! That pale land is our homeland,
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