STRETCH towards the moonless mi
As though that hand could reach to
And they but famous old upholsteri
Delightful to the touch; tighten t
As though to draw them closer yet.

I MADE my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat;
But the fools caught it,

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

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

THERE all the golden codgers lay
There the silver dew,
And the great water sighed for lov
And the wind sighed too.
Man-picker Niamh leant and sighed

An acre of green grass
For air and exercise,
Now strength of body goes;
Midnight, an old house
Where nothing stirs but a mouse.

THE light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.
But a raving autumn shears

I LIVED among great houses,
Riches drove out rank,
Base drove out the better blood,
And mind and body shrank.
No Oscar ruled the table,

THE Roaring Tinker if you like,
But Mannion is my name,
And I beat up the common sort
And think it is no shame.
The common breeds the common,

‘NEVER shall a young man,
Thrown into despair
By those great honey-coloured
Ramparts at your ear,
Love you for yourself alone