#IrishWriters
HERE Pilate’s Court is: None may clatter nor call Where the Wolf giving suck To the Twins glares on all ‘Strip Him and scourge Him
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…
UP from the navel of the world, Where Cuzco has her founts of fir… The passer of the Gulf he comes. He lives in air, a bird of fire, Charted by flowers still he comes
My young love said to me: My moth… And my father won’t slight you for… She put her arms ‘round me; these… It will not be long, love, ’til ou… Then she stepped away from me, and…
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…
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…
MAVOURNEEN, we’ll go far away From the net of the crooked town Where they grudge us the light of… Around my neck you will lay Two tight little arms of brown.
WE’VE watched the starlings floc… That we have often seen in other c… Hope, Justice, Commerce and have… Unvarying songs that are their mem… Memories of winds that they’ve bee…
‘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…
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…
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.
I’LL be an otter, and I’ll l… A mate beside me; we will venture… A deep, dark river, when the sky a… Is shut of the sun; spoilers are w… Thick-coated; no dog’s tooth can…
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…
SOJOURNER, set down Your skimming wheel; Nothing is sharp That we have of steel: Nothing has edge:
THE Plovers fly and cry around, Unguided, nestless, without bourn, Wandering and impetuous, Turning and flying to return. These wild birds seen on Ireland’…