#CarpeDiem #IrishWriters
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…
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…
YE white-maned waves of the Weste… That ride and roll to the strand, Ye strong-winged birds, never forc… By the gales that sweep toward lan… Ye are symbols of death, and of ho…
HE is coming! he is coming! in my… There is music in my blood, and it… That my love unknown comes toward… For I cannot hide the secret that… O the sweet bursting flowers! how…
THERE once was a time when, as o… The earth was not round, but an en… The sea was as wide as the heavens… Just millions of miles, and begin… And that was the time—ay, and more…
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…
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…
“Come, sing a new song to her here… They cry to her sons who sing; And one sings: ‘ Mavourneen, it m… To think how the sorrows cling, Like the clouds on your mountains,…
‘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…
“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;…
To toil all day and lie worn-out a… To rise for all the years to slave… And breed new broods to do no othe… In toiling, bearing, breeding—life… To myriad men, too base for man or…
I often, musing, wander back to da… And far-off scenes and long-lost f… A group familiar now I see, who a… My mother, sister Jane, myself, a… I’ll tell you how I see them now.…
HER hair was a waving bronze, and… Deep wells that might cover a broo… And who, till he weighed it, could… That her heart was a cinder instea…
THEY came in the early spring-da… With the first refreshing showers And I watched the growing beauty Of the little drooping flowers. They had no bright hues to charm m…
THERE is no joy all set apart fr… The opening bud has loss as well a… The brighest dewdropp gems a bendi… The rarest day has wept one little… But wholly blest the parting pain…