#IrishWriters
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 Word was first, says the rev… Justice is older than error or str… The Word preceded the Incarnation As symbol and type of law and life… And always so are the mighty chang…
DEAR islands of the Orient, Where Nature’s first of love was… Sweet hill-tops of the summered la… Where gods and men went hand in ha… In golden days of sinless earth!
IN the far time of Earth’s sweet… When Morning hung with rapture on… When every sentient life paid love… And every law was Nature’s own be… When reason ruled as subtle instin…
LOVE found them sitting in a woo… His amorous hand amid her golden t… And Love looked smiling on her gl… And moistened eyes upturned to his… ‘O sweet,’ she murmured, ‘life is…
LOVE is a plant with double root… And of strange, elastic power: Men’s minds are divided in naming… But a kiss is only the flower.
Well, mate, you’ve asked about a f… You met to-day, in a black-and-yel… Chain-gang suit, with a peddler’s… Or with some such burden, strapped… Did you meet him square? No, pass…
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,
HE gathered cherry-stones, and ca… Into fine semblances of flies and… With subtle skill, he even imaged… The forms of tiny maids and ivied… His little blocks he loved to file…
THOSE are vulgar things we pay f… While the precious and the peerles… Common debts are scored and cancel… But the debts from men to ages, th… Always see, the noblest nations ke…
I am tired of planning and toiling In the crowded hives of men; Heart-weary of building and spoili… And spoiling and building again. And I long for the dear old river…
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…
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…
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:…
“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,…