#IrishWriters
Oh, lovely Mary Donnelly, my joy,… If fifty girls were round you, I’… Be what it may the time o’ day,… Sweet looks o’ Mary Donnelly, t… Her eyes like mountain water that’…
That which he did not feel, he wou… What most he felt, religion it was… In a dumb darkling grotto, where t… Of tremulous tears, arising unespi… Became a holy well that durst not…
O English mother, in the ruddy gl… Hugging your baby closer when outs… You see the silent, soft, and crue… Falling again, and think what ills… Unshelter’d creatures,- your sad t…
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren’t go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk,
O pale green sea, With long, pale, purple clouds abo… What lies in me like weight of lov… What dies in me With utter grief, because there co…
A man there came, whence none coul… Bearing a Touchstone in his hand; And tested all things in the land By its unerring spell. Quick birth of transmutation smote
These little Songs, Found here and there, Floating in air By forest and lea, Or hill-side heather,
Doleful was the land, Dull on, every side, Neither soft n’or grand, Barren, bleak, and wide; Nothing look’d with love;
See the pretty planet! Floating sphere! Faintest breeze will fan it Far or near; World as light as feather;
Is always Age severe? Is never Youth austere? Spring-fruits are sour to eat; Autumn’s the mellow time. Nay, very late in the year,
An Elf sat on a twig, He was not very big, He sang a little song, He did not think it wrong; But he was on a Wizard’s ground,
Pluck not the wayside flower, It is the traveller’s dower; A thousand passers-by Its beauties may espy, May win a touch of blessing
A man who keeps a diary, pays Due toll to many tedious days; But life becomes eventful—then His busy hand forgets the pen. Most books, indeed, are records le…
The Abbot of Innisfallen awoke ere dawn of day; Under the dewy green leaves went he forth to pray. The lake around his island
Little Cowboy, what have you hear… Up on the lonely rath’s green moun… Only the plaintive yellow bird Sighing in sultry fields around, Chary, chary, chary, chee—ee!—