#1933 #IrishWriters #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
Where has Maid Quiet gone to, Nodding her russet hood? The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood. O how could I be so calm
AND thus declared that Arab lady… ‘Last night, where under the wild… On grassy mattress I had laid me, Within my arms great Solomon, I suddenly cried out in a strange…
IF you have revisited the town, t… Whether to look upon your monument (I wonder if the builder has been… Or happier-thoughted when the day… To drink of that salt breath out o…
Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water rats;
A MAN I praise that once in Tar… Said to the woman on his knees, ‘… My hundredth year is at an end.… That something is about to happen,… That the adventure of old age begi…
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,
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cl… Enwrought with golden and silver l… The blue and the dim and the dark… Of night and light and the half-li… I would spread the cloths under yo…
IN MEMORY OF EVA GORE… THE light of evening, Lissadell, Great windows open to the south, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle.
As I came over Windy Gap They threw a halfpenny into my cap… For I am running to paradise; And all that I need do is to wish And somebody puts his hand in the…
S. Patrick. You who are bent, and… With a heavy heart and a wandering… Have known three centuries, poets… Of dalliance with a demon thing. Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with…
HERE at right of the entrance th… Human, superhuman, a bird’s round… Everything else withered and mummy… What great tomb-haunter sweeps the… (Something may linger there though…
SAID lady once to lover, ‘None can rely upon A love that lacks its proper food; And if your love were gone How could you sing those songs of…
We that have done and thought, That have thought and done, Must ramble, and thin out Like milk spilt on a stone.
‘WHAT have I earned for all that… ‘For all that I have done at my o… The daily spite of this unmannerly… Where who has served the most is m… The reputation of his lifetime los…
THE dews drop slowly and dreams g… Suddenly hurtle before my dream-aw… And then the clash of fallen horse… Of unknown perishing armies beat a… We who still labour by the cromlec…