#IrishWriters
THERE once was a pirate, greedy… Who ravaged for gain, and saved th… Till his coffers were bursting wit… And millions of captives bore his… Then fear took hold of him, and he…
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…
DO not praise: a smile is payment… Who shall paint the mote’s glad ra… Nay, nor smile, for blind is eyesi… From the silence, from the twiligh… Songs were born before the singer:…
LET be what is: why should we str… With awkward skill against a subtl… Or pin a mystery ‘neath our puny p… And vainly try to bray its secret… What boots it me to gaze at other…
THE day and night are symbols of… And each has part in all that God… There is no ill without its compen… And life and death are only light… There never beat a heart so base a…
MAJESTIC warder by the Nation’… Spike-crowned, flame-armed like A… Holding the tablets of some unknow… With gesture eloquent and mute as… We stand about thy feet in solemn…
LONG time ago, from Amsterdam a… As fair a ship as ever flung aside… Upon the shore were tearful eyes,… As to her, o’er the Zuyder Zee, w… And brave hearts, yearning shorewa…
LOVE’S Herald flew o’er all the… Crying: ’ Love’s altar waits for sacrifice!’ And all folk answered, like a wave… With treasured offerings and gifts…
ONCE I had a little sweetheart In the land of the Malay,— Such a little yellow sweetheart! Warm and peerless as the day Of her own dear sunny island,
A MAN will trust another man, an… His secret thought and act, as if… A woman—does she tell her sins? A… She never knew a woman she could t…
“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;…
GOD makes a poet: touches soul an… And lips and heart, and sends him… His fellows hearing, own the true… And crown him daily with the love… The king a lord makes, by a parchm…
IN the Spring we see: Then the buds are dear to us—immat… In the Summer we live: When bright eyes are near to us, o… In the Autumn we love:
‘SHE is dead!’ they say; 'she is… Her mother has kissed her clay-col… Her blue eyes show through the wax… Her grave is dug, and its heap of… ‘She is dead!’ they say to the peo…
O THE rare spring flowers! take… Do not wait forsummer buds—they ma… Every sweet to-day sends, we are w… Roses bloom for pulling: the path…