#IrishWriters
When I was a young lad of happy s… There came to my window the Cushl… And the song that she sang was the… And the song that she sang was the… ‘And will you come with me, a vic…
Last night a hand pushed on the do… And tirled at the pin. I turned my face unto the wall, And could not cry, ‘Come in!’ I dared not cry, ‘Come in!’
Where the sword has opened the way… ‘Look! they came, the triumphant a… Over yon hill see their weapons pe… Still I spoke not but my wheel se… I closed my eyes for my heart was…
Half seated on a mossy crag, Half crouching in the heather; I found a little Irish maid, All in June’s golden weather. Like some fond hand that loved the…
Love lit a beacon in thine eyes, And I out in the storm, And lo! the night had taken wings; I dream me safe and warm. Love lit a beacon in thine eyes,
The wind knocks at the window, And my heart is full of fear, For I know when it is calling That some evil thing is near. It whispers in the chimney,
Listen to the tramping! Oh, God o… Can we kneel at prayer, sleep all… While the echo thunders?—God of p… Can we think of prayer—or sleep—so… Million upon million fleeing feet…
A miller’s daughter, as I heard t… Sing heigh! but the maid was merry… Was loved by her father’s man full… His cheek was brown as a berry. He made the grey mare fast to her…
A BALLAD OF SORROW ‘Jeanne Bras! Jeanne Bras! arise… Jeanne Bras! Jeanne Bras! will y… ‘Now who comes so late at my door,… Who knocks thus my slumbering to b…
My fair-haired boy is sore bewitch… He goes all full of grieving; The web of gloom upon his brow Is sure of fairy weaving. His cheery laugh I never hear,
‘Going, going!’ the voice was loud… And, rising, silenced the chatteri… ‘Going! going! shall it be gone?’ The auctioneer held up an old viol… ‘The mute though tarnished is silv…
This is the son of the white morni… Combing her silken hair’s simmer o… All of her slenderness wrapped in… Green of the dawning sky, dear to… ‘When the lime is in blossom the b…
Lighted by the lady moon, Breezes blow and aspens quiver, By the stream’s enchanted tune Singing to the distant river, Walks Cecilia.
A beggar sat by the King’s highwa… O, but the road was long! His hair was black and his beard w… Hark to the linnet’s song! He sat him down by the churchyard…
This is my brave singer, With his beak of gold; Now my heart’s a captive In his song’s sweet hold. O, the lark’s a rover,