#Irish
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,…
IT was pure indeed, The air we breathed in, the light… I and my brother, when we played t… Or piped to one another; then ther… Two young lads of an age with one…
’Tis long since, long since, since… A tin-whistle played, And heard the tunes, the ha’penny… That nobody made! The tunes that were before Cendfi…
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…
I KNOW you, Crane: I, too, have waited, Waited until my heart Melted to little pools around my f… Comer in the morning ere the crows…
THE smith who made the manacles, With bar and bolt, and link and ri… Sang out above his hearty blows ‘I can’t have grief for everything… As Roger by the rope-walk went
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.
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…
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
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
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…
SHALL I go bound and you go fre… And love one so removed from me? Not so; the falcon o’er my brow Hath better quest, I dare avow! And must I run where you will rid…
SANDALWOOD, you say, and in y… With Tyre and Solomon; to me it r… With places bare upon Pacific mou… With spaces empty in the minds of… Sandalwood!
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
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…