#1933 #IrishWriters #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
Scene: A house made of logs. There are two windows at the back and a door which cuts off one of the corners of the room. Through the door one can see low rocks which make the ground out...
I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams, White woman that passion has worn As the tide wears the dove-grey sa… And with heart more old than the h…
NOW as at all times I can see in… In their stiff, painted clothes, t… Appear and disappear in the blue d… With all their ancient faces like… And all their helms of silver hove…
I met the Bishop on the road And much said he and I. ‘Those breasts are flat and fallen… Those veins must soon be dry; Live in a heavenly mansion,
A sudden blow: the great wings bea… Above the staggering girl, her thi… By the dark webs, her nape caught… He holds her helpless breast upon… How can those terrified vague fing…
Her Courtesy WITH the old kindness, the old d… She lies, her lovely piteous head… Propped upon pillows, rouge on the… She would not have us sad because…
‘I am of Ireland, And the Holy Land of Ireland, And time runs on,’ cried she. ‘Come out of charity, Come dance with me in Ireland.’
ONE had a lovely face, And two or three had charm, But charm and face were in vain Because the mountain grass Cannot but keep the form
TOIL and grow rich, What’s that but to lie With a foul witch And after, drained dry, To be brought
That civilisation may not sink, Its great battle lost, Quiet the dog, tether the pony To a distant post; Our master Caesar is in the tent
My love, we will go, we will go,… And away in the woods we will scat… And the salmon behold, and the ous… My love, we will hear, I and you,… The calling afar of the doe and th…
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,
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…
OTHERS because you did not keep That deep-sworn vow have been frie… Yet always when I look death in t… When I clamber to the heights of… Or when I grow excited with wine,
THE GYRES! the gyres! Old Roc… Things thought too long can be no… For beauty dies of beauty, worth o… And ancient lineaments are blotted… Irrational streams of blood are st…