#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury #1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
Shakespearean fish swam the sea, f… Romantic fish swam in nets coming… What are all those fish that lie g…
‘TIME to put off the world and g… And find my health again in the se… Beggar to beggar cried, being fren… ‘And make my soul before my pate i… ’And get a comfortable wife and ho…
Autumn is over the long leaves tha… And over the mice in the barley sh… Yellow the leaves of the rowan abo… And yellow the wet wild-strawberry… The hour of the waning of love has…
A STATESMAN is an easy man, He tells his lies by rote; A journalist makes up his lies And takes you by the throat; So stay at home’ and drink your be…
Acquaintance; companion; One dear brilliant woman; The best-endowed, the elect, All by their youth undone, All, all, by that inhuman
I have pointed out the yelling pac… The hare leap to the wood, And when I pass a compliment Rejoice as lover should At the drooping of an eye,
I know, although when looks meet I tremble to the bone, The more I leave the door unlatch… The sooner love is gone, For love is but a skein unwound
If this importunate heart trouble… With words lighter than air, Or hopes that in mere hoping flick… Crumple the rose in your hair; And cover your lips with odorous t…
I meditate upon a swallow’s flight… Upon a aged woman and her house, A sycamore and lime-tree lost in n… Although that western cloud is lum… Great works constructed there in n…
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…
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…
ALL the words that I utter, And all the words that I write, Must spread out their wings untiri… And never rest in their flight, Till they come where your sad, sad…
The First. My great-grandfather s… In Grattan’s house. The Second. My great-grandfather… A pot-house bench with Oliver Gol… The Third. My great-grandfather’s…
I WOULD be ignorant as the dawn That has looked down On that old queen measuring a town With the pin of a brooch, Or on the withered men that saw
All things uncomely and broken, al… The cry of a child by the roadway,… The heavy steps of the ploughman,… Are wronging your image that bloss… The wrong of unshapely things is a…