#IrishWriters
CLEAR and bright, from the snowy… The joyous stream to the plain des… Rich sands of gold were washed and… To the turbid marsh where its pure… From stainless snow to the moor be…
WE were down in the Indian Ocean… The last six months in the tropics… Five men up on the royal yards, we… And every day like its brother,—ju… Nothing to break the sameness: wat…
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…
NATHAN BEANS and William Lam… Known from infancy to revel only i… Many a mother of Nantucket bristl… With a horrid skulking whistle, te… But for all maternal bristling lit…
THERE is an old tradition sacred… That says: 'Upon St. Martin’s Ev… No fishermen of Wexford shall, up… Set sail or cast a line within the… The tongue that framed the order,…
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…
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…
Poets should not reason: Let them sing! Argument is treason— Bells should ring. Statements none, nor questions;
I START! I have slept for a mom… I have dreamt, sitting here by her… Oh, how lonely! What was it that… What presence, what heaven-sent ai… It was nothing, you say. But I tr…
TEAR down the crape from the col… Be silent the wailing music—there… We come not in plaint or sorrow—no… We dare not weep o’er the epitaph… Come hither with glowing faces, th…
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…
Oh! no! I would not love again E’en had I still the power given; I would not risk its pain and fear… E’en though its joys were taste of… A breath may blight the heart we p…
LOVE was true to me, True and tender; I who ought to be Love’s defender, Let the cold winds blow
O Beauteous Southland! Land of y… That hangeth o’ve thee slumbering,… The moveless foliage of thy valley… And wooded hills, like aureole of… Oh thou, discovered ere the fittin…
I do not know the meaning of the s… But bend before its power, as a re… When the black tornado fills the v… Three times in twenty years its sh… On lines of fire on the black veil…