#IrishWriters
Nor gold, nor silver are the words… Nor rich-wrought chasing on design… But rugged relics of an unknown sp… Where fortune chanced I played on… Unthought of here the critic blame…
IN the depths of the silent wood… Like a dream of snow-white stone,… Undraped beside a stream. The pious from every clime came th… With incense and gifts and prayer;…
‘You gave me the key of your heart… Then why do you make me knock?’ ‘O, that was yesterday, Saints ab… And last night—I changed the lock…
I told her a story, a fairy story, My little daughter with eyes of bl… And with clear, wide gaze as the s… She always asked me—'Oh, is it tr… Always that word when the wonder r…
‘TWAS a dismal winter’s evening,… But within, the cheerful fire cast… O’er our pleasant little parlor, t… There she sat beside the glowing g… And beyond, within the shadow, in…
NOT on the word alone Let love depend; Neither by actions done Choose ye the friend. Let the slow years fly—
“LOVE is the secret of the world… “The cup we drain and still desire… The loadstone hungers for the stee… Inert amid a million stones, respo… So yearn and answer hearts that tr…
The Steamer ‘ Atlantic ’ Was Wre… FOR months and years, with penury… And heart-sore envy did they dare… And mite by mite was saved from ea… To buy, some future day, the God-…
“I am poor,” said Chunder Ali, wh… Frowned in supercilious anger at t… “I am friendless and a Hindoo: su… Here in China, where the Hindoo f… I have naught to buy your justice;…
The Infinite always is silent: It is only the Finite speaks. Our words are the idle wave-caps On the deep that never breaks. We may question with wand of scien…
THERE is blood on the face of th… It reeks through the years, and is… Where Truth was slaughtered at bi… And the veins of Liberty bled. Lo! vain is the hand that tries
CAN the earth have a voice? Can… To murmur and rail at the demigods… Trample them! Grind their vulgar… The earth was made for lords and t… For the conquerors and the social…
TWO youths from a village set out… To seek their fortune the wide wor… One cried, ‘Hurra for the autumn… The other sighed, ‘Winter is almo… One failed, they said, for he neve…
Trapper died—our hero—and we griev… In every heart in camp the sorrow… “His soul was red!” the Indian cr… “A white man, he!” the grim old Y… So, brief and strong, each mourner…
WHAT shall we mourn? For the pro… For the fallen cliff that fronted… For the eagle that died in the tem… Nay, not for these shall we weep;… And the golden fillet shrink back…