#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury #1910 #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
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,
Overcome—O bitter sweetness, Inhabitant of the soft cheek of a… The rich man and his affairs, The fat flocks and the fields’ fat… Mariners, rough harvesters;
What’s riches to him That has made a great peacock With the pride of his eye? The wind-beaten, stone-grey, And desolate Three Rock
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose o… Come near me, while I sing the an… Cuchulain battling with the bitter… The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, q… Who cast round Fergus dreams, and…
Beloved, may your sleep be sound That have found it where you fed. What were all the world’s alarms To mighty paris when he found Sleep upon a golden bed
How can I, that girl standing the… My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics? Yet here’s a travelled man that kn…
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
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…
Time drops in decay, Like a candle burnt out, And the mountains and the woods Have their day, have their day; What one in the rout
WHO dreamed that beauty passes li… For these red lips, with all their… Mournful that no new wonder may be… Troy passed away in one high funer… And Usna’s children died.
PROCESSIONS that lack high st… What if my great-granddad had a pa… And mine were but fifteen foot, no… Some rogue of the world stole them… Because piebald ponies, led bears,…
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,
Violence upon the roads: violence… Some few have handsome riders, are… On delicate sensitive ear or tossi… But wearied running round and roun… All break and vanish, and evil gat…
Although I can see him still, The freckled man who goes To a grey place on a hill In grey Connemara clothes At dawn to cast his flies,
O women, kneeling by your altar-ra… When songs I wove for my beloved… And smoke from this dead heart dri… And covers away the smoke of myrrh… Bend down and pray for all that si…