#IrishWriters
In the winter time we go Walking in the fields of snow; Where there is no grass at all; Where the top of every wall, Every fence, and every tree,
I went to the Wood of Flowers (No one was with me): I was there alone for hours. I was happy as could be In the Wood of Flowers.
THE lanky hank of a she in the in… Nearly killed me for asking the lo… May the devil grip the whey-faced… And beat bad manners out of her sk… That parboiled imp, with the harde…
There was a giant by the Orchard… Peeping about on this side and on… And feeling in the trees: he was a… As the big apple tree, and twice a… His beard was long, and bristly-bl…
The crooked paths go every way Upon the hill - they wind about Through the heather in and out Of the quiet sunniness. And there the goats, day after day…
I cling and swing On a branch, or sing Through the cool, clear hush of M… Or fling my wing On the air, and bring
I was frightened, for a wind Crept along the grass to say Something that was in my mind Yesterday— Something that I did not know
And then I wakened up in such a f… I thought I heard a movement in t… But did not dare to look; I snugg… Down underneath the bedclothes—the… Of a tremendous voice said, ‘Sit…
I will sing no more songs: the pri… Through forty long years of good r… And no one cared even as much as t… For the song or the singer, so her… If a person should think I compla…
I heard a bird at dawn Singing sweetly on a tree, That the dew was on the lawn, And the wind was on the lea; But I didn’t listen to him,
The wind stood up and gave a shout… He whistled on his fingers and Kicked the withered leaves about And thumped the branches with his… And said that he’d kill and kill,
I hear a sudden cry of pain! There is a rabbit in a snare: Now I hear the cry again, But I cannot tell from where. But I cannot tell from where
Mad Patsy said, he said to me, That every morning he could see An angel walking on the sky; Across the sunny skies of morn He threw great handfuls far and ni…
To-day i felt as poor O’Brien did When, turning from all else that w… He took himself to that which was… —He took him to his verse—for othe… And (tho’ man will crave and seek)
Do not forget my charge I beg of… That of what flow’rs you find of f… And sweetest odor you do gather th… Are best of all the best—a fragran… A tall calm lily from the watersid…