There is a town in Ireland, A little town I know; Its girls have tender Irish eyes Beneath their brows of snow; And in the field around it

These broken lines for pardon crav… I cannot end the song with art: My grief is gray and old—her grave Is dug so deep within my heart. IT was a day of sombre heat:

ONCE a poet—long ago— Wrote a song as void of art As the songs that children know, And as pure as a child’s heart. With a sigh he threw it down,

And after all—and after all,    Our passionate prayers, and sig… Is life a reckless carnival?    And are they lost, our golden y… Ah, no; ah, no; for, long ago,

DAY goeth bold in cloth of gold, A royal bridegroom he; But Night in jewelled purple walk… A Queen of Mystery. Day filleth up his loving-cup

NEÆRA crowns me with a purple wr… That she with her own dainty hands… Gold-hearted blossoms and blue bud… Mingled with veined green leaves o… Then, bending down her bright head…

WHO are these strange small folk, These that come to our homes as ki… Asking nor leave nor grace, Bending our necks to their yoke, Taking the highest place,

OVER a slow-dying fire, Dreaming old dreams, I am sitting… The flames leap up and expire; A woman sits opposite knitting. I’ve taken a Fate to wife;

CARE is a Poet fine: He works in shade or shine, And leaves—you know his sign!— No day without its line. He writes with iron pen

We said farewell, my youth and I, When all fair dreams were gone or… And Love’s red lips were cold and… When white blooms fell from tree-t… Our Austral winter’s way of snowi…

A horseman on a hilltop green Drew rein, and wound his horn; So bright he looked he might have… The Herald of the Morn. His steed was of the sovran strain

With pen in hand and pipe in mouth… And claret iced to quench my drout… I sit upon my balcony That overlooks the sparkling sea, Serenly gay, and cool, and bland -

On a golden dawn in the dawn subli… Of years ere the stars had ceased… Beautiful out of the sea-deeps col… Aphrodite arose—the Flower of Tim… That, dear till the day of her blo…

See how it flashes, This grape-blood fine! Our beards it splashes, O comrade mine! Life dust and ashes

The waters make a music low: The river reeds Are trembling to the tunes of long… Dead days and deeds Become alive again, as on