#IrishWriters
There’s a wind blowing Cold through the corridors, A ghost-wind, The flapping of defeated wings, A hell-fantasy
They laughed at one I loved– The triangular hill that hung Under the Big Forth. They said That I was bounded by the whiteth… Of the little farm and did not kno…
April dusk It is tragic to be a poet now And not a lover Paradised under the mutest bough. I look through my window and see
On Raglan Road on an autumn day… That her dark hair would weave a s… I saw the danger, yet I walked al… And I said, let grief be a fallen… On Grafton Street in November we…
My father played the melodeon Outside at our gate, There were stars in the morning ea… And they danced to his music. Across the world bogs his melodeon…
The birds sang in the wet trees And I listened to them it was a h… And I was dead and someone else w… But I was glad I had recorded for… The melancholy.
Back once again in wild, wet Mona… Exiled from thought and feeling, A mean brutality reigns: It is really a horrible position t… And I equate myself with Dante
Now leave the check-reins slack, The seed is flying far today - The seed like stars against the bl… Eternity of April clay. This seed is potent as the seed
Upon a bank I sat, a child made s… Of one small primrose flowering in… Better than wealth it is, I said,… One small page of Truth’s manuscr… I looked at Christ transfigured w…
One side of the potato—pits was wh… How wonderful that was, how wonder… And when we put our ears to the pa… The music that came out was magica… The light between the ricks of hay…
And sometimes I am sorry when the… Is growing over the stones in quie… And the cocksfoot leans across the… That I am not the voice of countr… Who now are standing by some headl…
I do not think of you lying in the… Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see You walking down a lane among the… On your way to the station, or hap… Going to second Mass on a summer…
I have lived in important places,… When great events were decided, wh… That half a rood of rock, a no-man… Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed… I heard the Duffys shouting “Damn…
Leafy-with-love banks and the gree… Pouring redemption for me, that I… The will of God, wallow in the ha… Grow with nature again as before… The bright stick trapped, the bree…
We are the children of light, Wise, not companioned By goats In a condemned graveyard. Backward blowing