#1899 #IrishWriters #TheWindAmongTheReeds
ON thrones from China to Peru All sorts of kings have sat That men and women of all sorts proclaimed both good and great; And what’s the odds if such as the…
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
Shakespearean fish swam the sea, f… Romantic fish swam in nets coming… What are all those fish that lie g…
I WOULD that we were, my belove… We tire of the flame of the meteor… And the flame of the blue star of… Has awakened in our hearts, my bel… A weariness comes from those dream…
(For Harry Clifton) I HAVE heard that hysterical wom… They are sick of the palette and f… Of poets that are always gay, For everybody knows or else should…
‘TIME to put off the world and g… And find my health again in the se… Beggar to beggar cried, being fren… ‘And make my soul before my pate i… ’And get a comfortable wife and ho…
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,…
I TURN round Like a dumb beast in a show. Neither know what I am Nor where I go, My language beaten
What shall I do with this absurdi… O heart, O troubled heart—this ca… Decrepit age that has been tied to… As to a dog’s tail? Never had I more
I THOUGHT of your beauty, and… Made out of a wild thought, is in… There’s no man may look upon her,… As when newly grown to be a woman, Tall and noble but with face and b…
WHAT sort of man is coming To lie between your feet? What matter, we are but women. Wash; make your body sweet; I have cupboards of dried fragranc…
Once more the storm is howling, an… Under this cradle—hood and coverli… My child sleeps on. There is no… But Gregory’s wood and one bare h… Whereby the haystack—and roof—leve…
Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That’s all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth,
Beloved, may your sleep be sound That have found it where you fed. What were all the world’s alarms To mighty paris when he found Sleep upon a golden bed