#1933 #IrishWriters #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
I have met them at close of day Coming with vivid faces From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. I have passed with a nod of the he…
I– CRAZY JANE AND THE B… 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
Although you hide in the ebb and f… Of the pale tide when the moon has… The people of coming days will kno… About the casting out of my net, And how you have leaped times out…
Fergus. This whole day have I fol… And you have changed and flowed fr… First as a raven on whose ancient… Scarcely a feather lingered, then… A weasel moving on from stone to s…
Some may have blamed you that you… The verses that could move them on… When, the ears being deafened, the… With lightning, you went from me,… Nothing to make a song about but k…
That crazed girl improvising her m… Her poetry, dancing upon the shore… Her soul in division from itself Climbing, falling She knew not wh… Hiding amid the cargo of a steamsh…
We, who seven years ago Talked of honour and of truth, Shriek with pleasure if we show The weasel’s twist, the weasel’s t…
Far-Off, most secret, and inviola… Enfold me in my hour of hours; whe… Who sought thee in the Holy Sepul… Or in the wine-vat, dwell beyond t… And tumult of defeated dreams; and…
THE cat went here and there And the moon spun round like a top… And the nearest kin of the moon, The creeping cat, looked up. Black Minnaloushe stared at the m…
WHEN you and my true lover meet And he plays tunes between your fe… Speak no evil of the soul, Nor think that body is the whole, For I that am his daylight lady
The Danaan children laugh, in cra… And clap their hands together, and… For they will ride the North when… With heavy whitening wings, and a… I kiss my wailing child and press…
‘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.’
THE old brown thorn-trees break i… Under a bitter black wind that blo… Our courage breaks like an old tre… But we have hidden in our hearts t… Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houl…
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…
He. Dear, I must be gone While night Shuts the eyes Of the household spies; That song announces dawn. She. No, night’s bird and love’s