#IrishWriters
Lean out of the window, Goldenhair, I hear you singing A merry air. My book was closed,
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
Winds of May, that dance on the s… Dancing a ring—around in glee From furrow to furrow, while overh… The foam flies up to be garlanded, In silvery arches spanning the air…
From dewy dreams, my soul, arise, From love’s deep slumber and from… For lo! the treees are full of sig… Whose leaves the morn admonisheth. Eastward the gradual dawn prevails
O Sweetheart, hear you Your lover’s tale; A man shall have sorrow When friends him fail. For he shall know then
This heart that flutters near my h… My hope and all my riches is, Unhappy when we draw apart And happy between kiss and kiss: My hope and all my riches ——yes! —…
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
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...
The Mabbot Street entrance of nighttown, before which stretches an uncobbled tramsiding set with skeleton tracks, red and green will-o’-the-wisps and danger signals. rows of grimy house...
What counsel has the hooded moon Put in thy heart, my shyly sweet, Of Love in ancient plenilune, Glory and stars beneath his feet —… A sage that is but kith and kin
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...
Gaunt in gloom, The pale stars their torches, Enshrouded, wave. Ghostfires from heaven’s far verge… Arches on soaring arches,
Silently she’s combing, Combing her long hair Silently and graciously, With many a pretty air. The sun is in the willow leaves
Rain has fallen all the day. O come among the laden trees: The leaves lie thick upon the way Of memories. Staying a little by the way
All day I hear the noise of water… Making moan, Sad as the sea-bird is when, going Forth alone, He hears the winds cry to the wate…