#IrishWriters
Silently she’s combing, Combing her long hair Silently and graciously, With many a pretty air. The sun is in the willow leaves
Love came to us in time gone by When one at twilight shyly played And one in fear was standing nigh… For Love at first is all afraid. We were grave lovers. Love is pas…
YES because he never did a thing like that before as ask to get his breakfast in bed with a couple of eggs since the City Arms hotel when he used to be pretending to be laid up with a s...
Gentle lady, do not sing Sad songs about the end of love; Lay aside sadness and sing How love that passes is enough. Sing about the long deep sleep
The superior, the very reverend John Conmee S.J. reset his smooth watch in his interior pocket as he came down the presbytery steps. Five to three. Just nice time to walk to Artane. Wha...
Fabled by the daughters of memory. And yet it was in some way if not as memory fabled it. A phrase, then, of impatience, thud of Blake’s wings of excess. I hear the ruin of all space, s...
Now, O now, in this brown land Where Love did so sweet music mak… We two shall wander, hand in hand, Forbearing for old friendship’ sak… Nor grieve because our love was ga…
Go seek her out all courteously, And say I come, Wind of spices whose song is ever Epithalamium. O, hurry over the dark lands
Again! Come, give, yield all your stre… From far a low word breathes on th… Its cruel calm, submission’s miser… Gentling her awe as to a soul pred…
I was just passing the time of day with old Troy of the D. M. P. at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. I...
I would in that sweet bosom be (O sweet it is and fair it is!) Where no rude wind might visit me. Because of sad austerities I would in that sweet bosom be.
Lightly come or lightly go: Though thy heart presage thee woe, Vales and many a wasted sun, Oread let thy laughter run, Till the irreverent mountain air
Bright cap and streamers, He sings in the hollow: Come follow, come follow, All you that love. Leave dreams to the dreamers
Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind h...
When the shy star goes forth in he… All maidenly, disconsolate, Hear you amid the drowsy even One who is singing by your gate. His song is softer than the dew