#IrishWriters
Up the steep stair they clatter to… In whispered merriment they pierce… Of Time’s sweet mercy, who with h… Did seek in vain to stay their res… Their peeping eyes and prying fing…
She made roses all the day for pre… All through the patient hours, hal… Dragged into a hurried knot all he… Eyes foolish with fatigue, straini… Pretty ladies roamed away over lan…
Once she woke to fairyland, Now she wakes to grief, All the golden days are gone, Lost by time—the thief. Once she sprang to meet the dawn,
White rose must die all in the you… Though nightingale should sing the… Though summer breezes woo, She will not hear. Too delicate for the sun’s kiss so…
See, there he goes, a-pulling his… With frowning brow, and far and ab… On his bowed head the dust of time… And on his parchment cheek life’s… He doth not hear the lark in worsh…
Droop all the flowers in my garden… All their fair heads hang low; For rose, their fairest companion, Never again will they know. Bring me no flowers for wearing,
O MOTHER, mother, I swept the… I prayed for his coming to our kin… A strange wind rattled the window-… I called his name and the candle f… Deelish! Deelish! my woe forever…
Blossomed too soon, little daisies… Leaving the sheltering arms of the… The white tears of Winter unshed… And weary-eyed Sorrow to welcome… See, ’twas cold Winter that woke…
Lighted by the lady moon, Breezes blow and aspens quiver, By the stream’s enchanted tune Singing to the distant river, Walks Cecilia.
And I had died before the spring… When winter’s kiss upon the fields… And no small seed had broken up th… Then had I died, whose earthly ho… I should have liked to see the sno…
The ship is sinking, come ye one a… Stand fast and so this weakness ov… Come ye strong hands and cheery vo… ‘Stand by!’ The ship is sinking in a summer se…
Whose is the voice that will not l… I hear it speak. Where is the shore will gratify my… Show what I seek? Not yours, weak Muse, to mimic th…
Into my heart, Sorrow, you found… Mine enemy, it was bitter to weep… I gave you tears for drinking, And heart-sick sobs, With brain too sick for thinking,
It was the Black Earl Roderick Who rode towards the south; The frown was heavy on his brow, The sneer upon his mouth. Behind him rode a hundred men
A Prayer in Time of War Whence comes the rain that ceasele… And seems to hold the bitter taste… Is it the lonely sorrow of the nig… Where patient women shed their hop…