#1933 #IrishWriters #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
THE old brown thorn-trees break i… Under a bitter black wind that blo… Our courage breaks like an old tre… But we have hidden in our hearts t… Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houl…
A sudden blow: the great wings bea… Above the staggering girl, her thi… By the dark webs, her nape caught… He holds her helpless breast upon… How can those terrified vague fing…
Shepherd. That cry’s from the fir… I wished before it ceased. Goatherd. Nor bird nor beast Could make me wish for anything th… Being old, but that the old alone…
If any man drew near When I was young, I thought, ‘He holds her dear,’ And shook with hate and fear. But O! ‘twas bitter wrong
Where has Maid Quiet gone to, Nodding her russet hood? The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood. O how could I be so calm
Although I can see him still, The freckled man who goes To a grey place on a hill In grey Connemara clothes At dawn to cast his flies,
DO not because this day I have gr… Imagine that lost love, inseparabl… Because I have no other youth, ca… For how should I forget the wisdo… The comfort that you made? Althou…
I have met them at close of day Coming with vivid faces From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. I have passed with a nod of the he…
My Paistin Finn is my sole desire… And I am shrunken to skin and bon… For all my heart has had for its h… Is what I can whistle alone and a… Oro, oro.!
Overcome—O bitter sweetness, Inhabitant of the soft cheek of a… The rich man and his affairs, The fat flocks and the fields’ fat… Mariners, rough harvesters;
I have old women’s secrets now That had those of the young; Madge tells me what I dared not t… When my blood was strong, And what had drowned a lover once
‘WHAT have I earned for all that… ‘For all that I have done at my o… The daily spite of this unmannerly… Where who has served the most is m… The reputation of his lifetime los…
Through winter-time we call on spr… And through the spring on summer c… And when abounding hedges ring Declare that winter’s best of all; And after that there’s nothing goo…
BALD heads forgetful of their si… Old, learned, respectable bald hea… Edit and annotate the lines That young men, tossing on their b… Rhymed out in love’s despair
Come, let me sing into your ear; Those dancing days are gone, All that silk and satin gear; Crouch upon a stone, Wrapping that foul body up