#IrishWriters
A spirit speeding down on All Sou… From the wide gates of that myster… Where sleep the dead, sung softly… ‘So gay a wind was never heard bef… The old man said, and listened by…
In Rome, as I look from my lattic… And lean to the night, Where the living sleep, still as t… All in the sunlight. The dead are awake ‘mid our restin…
‘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…
Beside my window sighs the last lo… Saying, ‘Alas! farewell! Youth’s… Like some sweet spirit waiting for… Her perfume hovers round her droop… There sings a bird the yellow leav…
When I crept over the hill, broke… When I crouched down on the grass… I heard the soft croon of the wind… I felt the light kiss of the wind… When I stood lone on the height m…
The wind has blown my heart away All on a summer holiday. If you can find it, pray you tell, For this is how the loss befell If you will now my tale believe,
A scallop shell, loosed by the lif… Had left a friendly shore, the sea… Its lips of pink and snowy hollow… Pure in the sun, a pearl upon the… It gleamed and passed—you burdened…
“There is one at the door, Wolfe… At the door, who bids you to come!… “Who is he that wakes me in the da… Calling when all the world is dumb… “Six horses has he to his carriage…
I want to talk to thee of many thi… Or sit in silence when the robin s… His littl’ song, when comes the wi… I want to sit beside thee, cheek b… I want to hear thy voice my name r…
‘May I go to the field,’ said the… ‘Where the corn grows sweet and hi… ‘Is there aught on the stile,’ sai… ‘Or what do I there espy?’ ‘'Tis a shepherd’s lad, but he dre…
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…
The little red rose tapped at my w… Tapped at my window long years ago… Glad would I run then, trip to th… Who was in hiding well did I know… Last night I, nodding, heard at t…
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…
I saw Winter 'neath a spindle tre… She plucked berries bright to crow… She was singing little robin’s son… While wild beech-leaves round and… I ran home into my little house,
‘The World were a place to play i… ‘The playground of the present; al… No past is ours to sorrow, No clouding thought of morrow, And joy is slow in passing where w…