#1910 #IrishWriters #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
A little Indian temple in the Gol… that the forest. Anashuya, the you… temple. Anashuya. Send peace on all the l… O, may tranquillity walk by his el…
I AM tired of cursing the Bishop… (Said Crazy Jane) Nine books or nine hats Would not make him a man. I have found something worse
O bid me mount and sail up there Amid the cloudy wrack, For peg and Meg and Paris’ love That had so straight a back, Are gone away, and some that stay
I’LL say and maybe dream I have… Seeing that time has frozen up the… The wick of youth being burned and… From beauty that is cast out of a… In bronze, or that in dazzling mar…
Your hooves have stamped at the bl… Even where horrible green parrots… My works are all stamped down into… I knew that horse-play, knew it fo… What wholesome sun has ripened is…
SAY that the men of the old black… Though they but feed as the goathe… Their money spent, their wine gone… Lack nothing that a soldier needs, That all are oath-bound men:
PROCESSIONS that lack high st… What if my great-granddad had a pa… And mine were but fifteen foot, no… Some rogue of the world stole them… Because piebald ponies, led bears,…
That lover of a night Came when he would, Went in the dawning light Whether I would or no; Men come, men go;
‘O cruel Death, give three things… Sang a bone upon the shore; ‘A child found all a child can lac… Whether of pleasure or of rest, Upon the abundance of my breast’:
KING EOCHAID came at sundown… Westward of Tara. Hurrying to hi… He had outridden his war-wasted me… That with empounded cattle trod th… And where beech-trees had mixed a…
THERE all the golden codgers lay… There the silver dew, And the great water sighed for lov… And the wind sighed too. Man-picker Niamh leant and sighed
Where, where but here have pride a… That long to give themselves for w… To shake their wicked sides at you… Restraining reckless middle-age?
I, THE poet William Yeats, With old mill boards and sea-green… And smithy work from the Gort for… Restored this tower for my wife G… And may these characters remain
WHAT’S riches to him That has made a great peacock With the pride of his eye? The wind-beaten, stone-grey, And desolate Three Rock
A storm beaten old watch-tower, A blind hermit rings the hour. All-destroying sword-blade still Carried by the wandering fool. Gold-sewn silk on the sword-blade,