The harlot sang to the beggar-man.
I meet them face to face,
Conall, Cuchulain, Usna’s boys,
All that most ancient race;
Maeve had three in an hour, they s

Fled foam underneath us, and round
High as the Saddle-girth, coverin
And those that fled, and that foll
The immortal desire of Immortals
I mused on the chase with the Fen

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

I THINK it better that in times
A poet’s mouth be silent, for in t
We have no gift to set a statesman
He has had enough of meddling who
A young girl in the indolence of h

DANCE there upon the shore;
What need have you to care
For wind or water’s roar?
And tumble out your hair
That the salt drops have wet;

WHEN the flaming lute-thronged a
When an immortal passion breathes
Our hearts endure the scourge, the
Crowded with bitter faces, the wou
The vinegar-heavy sponge, the flow

The intellect of man is forced to
perfection of the life, or of the
And if it take the second must ref
A heavenly mansion, raging in the
When all that story’s finished, wh

PARNELL came down the road, he
'Ireland shall get her freedom and

(Song from an Unfinished Play)
My mother dandled me and sang,
‘How young it is, how young!’
And made a golden cradle
That on a willow swung.

A STORM BEATEN old watch-tow
A blind hermit rings the hour.
All-destroying sword-blade still
Carried by the wandering fool.
Gold-sewn silk on the sword-blade,