#IrishWriters
I heard the dogs howl in the moonl… I went to the window to see the si… All the Dead that ever I knew Going one by one and two by two. On they pass’d, and on they pass’d…
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…
In Sussex here, by shingle and by… Flat fields and farmsteads in thei… The shallow tide-wave courses to t… And all along the down a fringe on… Of ducal woods. That 'dim discove…
I’m glad I am alive, to see and f… The full deliciousness of this bri… That’s like a heart with nothing t… The young leaves scarcely tremblin… Rimming the cloudless ether far aw…
Doleful was the land, Dull on, every side, Neither soft n’or grand, Barren, bleak, and wide; Nothing look’d with love;
Through grass, through amber’d cor… Fringed with its flags and reeds a… And Meadowsweet, the chosen of th… By wandering children, yellow as t… Of those great cows—winds on as in…
The vast and solemn company of clo… Around the Sun’s death, lit, inca… Cool into ashy wan; as Night ensh… The level pasture, creeping up beh… Through voiceless vales, o’er lawn…
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,
O Spirit of the Summertime! Bring back the roses to the dells… The swallow from her distant clime… The honey-bee from drowsy cells. Bring back the friendship of the s…
Adieu to Belashanny! where I was… Go where I may, I’ll think of you… The kindly spot, the friendly town… And not a face in all the place bu… There’s not a house or window, the…
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 spirit of the Summer-time! Bring back the roses to the dells; The swallow from her distant clime… The honey-bee from drowsy cells. Bring back the friendship of the s…
These little Songs, Found here and there, Floating in air By forest and lea, Or hill-side heather,
With grief and mourning I sit to… My Love passed by, and he didn’t… He passes by me, both day and nigh… And carries off my poor heart’s de… There is a tavern in yonder town,
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren’t go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk,