#1910 #IrishWriters #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
S. Patrick. You who are bent, and… With a heavy heart and a wandering… Have known three centuries, poets… Of dalliance with a demon thing. Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with…
A CURSING rogue with a merry f… A bundle of rags upon a crutch, Stumbled upon that windy place Called Cruachan, and it was as mu… As the one sturdy leg could do
How should the world be luckier if… Where passion and precision have b… Time out of mind, became too ruino… To breed the lidleSs eye that lov… And the sweet laughing eagle thoug…
How can I, that girl standing the… My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics? Yet here’s a travelled man that kn…
There where the course is, Delight makes all of the one mind, The riders upon the galloping hors… The crowd that closes in behind: We, too, had good attendance once,
He. Never until this night have I… The elaborate starlight throws a r… On the dark stream, Till all the eddies gleam; And thereupon there comes that scr…
Where had her sweetness gone? What fanatics invent In this blind bitter town, Fantasy or incident Not worth thinking of,
A strange thing surely that my hea… Upon the Norman upland or in that… Should find no burden but itself a… It could not bear that burden and… The south wind brought it longing,…
Though you are in your shining day… Voices among the crowd And new friends busy with your pra… Be not unkind or proud, But think about old friends the mo…
BECAUSE we love bare hills and… And were the last to choose the se… Its boredom of the desk or of the… So many years companioned by a hou… Our voices carry; and though slumb…
Shy one, shy one, Shy one of my heart, She moves in the firelight Pensively apart. She carries in the dishes,
Poets with whom I learned my trad… Companions of the Cheshire Cheese… Here’s an old story I’ve remade, Imagining 'twould better please Your cars than stories now in fash…
Autumn is over the long leaves tha… And over the mice in the barley sh… Yellow the leaves of the rowan abo… And yellow the wet wild-strawberry… The hour of the waning of love has…
THERE is grey in your hair. Young men no longer suddenly catch… When you are passing; But maybe some old gaffer mutters… Because it was your prayer
Pardon, old fathers, if you still… Somewhere in ear-shot for the stor… Old Dublin merchant “free of the… Or trading out of Galway into Spa… Old country scholar, Robert Emmet…