#IrishWriters
Chequer’d with woven shadows as I… Among the grass, blinking the wate… I saw an Echo-Spirit in his bay Most idly floating in the noontide… Slow heaved his filmy skiff, and f…
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
In early morning twilight, raw and… Damp vapours brooding on the barre… Through miles of mire in steady gr… Threescore well-arm’d police pursu… Each tall and bearded man a rifle…
Adieu to Belashanny! where I was bred and born; Go where I may, I’ll think of you… as sure as night and morn. The kindly spot, the friendly town…
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…
Good-bye, good-bye to Summer! For Summer’s nearly done; The garden smiling faintly, Cool breezes in the sun; Our Thrushes now are silent,
Gray, gray is Abbey Assaroe, by… It has neither door nor window, th… The carven-stones lie scatter’d in… The only feet are those that come… A little rocky rivulet runs murmur…
See the pretty planet! Floating sphere! Faintest breeze will fan it Far or near; World as light as feather;
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’…
Hayrick some do spell thy name, And thy verse approves the same; For ’tis like fresh-scented hay,— With country lasses in’t at play.
These little Songs, Found here and there, Floating in air By forest and lea, Or hill-side heather,
See how a Seed, which Autumn flun… And through the Winter neglected… Uncoils two little green leaves an… With tiny root taking hold on the… As, lifting and strengthening day…
Doleful was the land, Dull on, every side, Neither soft n’or grand, Barren, bleak, and wide; Nothing look’d with love;
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…
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…