#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Now must I these three praise— Three women that have wrought What joy is in my days: One because no thought, Nor those unpassing cares,
I have met them at close of day Coming with vivid faces From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. I have passed with a nod of the he…
From pleasure of the bed, Dull as a worm, His rod and its butting head Limp as a worm, His spirit that has fled
FASTEN your hair with a golden… And bind up every wandering tress; I bade my heart build these poor r… It worked at them, day out, day in… Building a sorrowful loveliness
A storm beaten old watch-tower, A blind hermit rings the hour. All-destroying sword-blade still Carried by the wandering fool. Gold-sewn silk on the sword-blade,
Bring me to the blasted oak That I, midnight upon the stroke, (All find safety in the tomb.) May call down curses on his head Because of my dear Jack that’s de…
BELOVED, gaze in thine own hear… The holy tree is growing there; From joy the holy branches start, And all the trembling flowers they… The changing colours of its fruit
AN old man cocked his ear upon a… He and his friend, their faces to… Had trod the uneven road. Their b… Their Connemara cloth worn out of… They had kept a steady pace as tho…
A moonlight moor. Fairies lead… Male Fairies: Do not fear us, ear… We will lead you hand in hand By the willows in the glade, By the gorse on the high land,
There was a green branch hung with… When her own people ruled this tra… And from its murmuring greenness,… A Druid kindness, on all hearers… It charmed away the merchant from…
THEY must to keep their certaint… All that are different of a base i… Pull down established honour; hawk… Whatever their loose fantasy inven… And murmur it with bated breath, a…
Man IN a cleft that’s christened Alt Under broken stone I halt At the bottom of a pit That broad noon has never lit,
Whence did all that fury come? From empty tomb or Virgin womb? Saint Joseph thought the world wo… But liked the way his finger smelt…
COME gather round me, Parnellite… And praise our chosen man; Stand upright on your legs awhile, Stand upright while you can, For soon we lie where he is laid,
All things uncomely and broken, All things worn-out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, The creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the ploughman,