#IrishWriters #Victorian
I am weary of lying within the cha… When the knights are meeting in ma… Nay, go not thou to the red—roofed… Lest the hoofs of the war—horse tr… But I would not go where the Squi…
ROME! what a scroll of History t… In the first days thy sword republ… Ruled the whole world for many an… Then of thy peoples thou wert crow… Till in thy streets the bearded G…
Out of the mid-wood’s twilight Into the meadow’s dawn, Ivory limbed and brown-eyed, Flashes my Faun! He skips through the copses singin…
Now when the darkness came over th… having lighted a torch of pinewood… the valley. For he had business in… And kneeling on the flint stones o… a young man who was naked and weep…
THIS English Thames is holier f… Those harebells like a sudden flus… Breaking across the woodland, with… Of meadow—sweet and white anemone To fleck their blue waves,—God is…
COME down, O Christ, and help m… For I am drowning in a stormier s… Than Simon on thy lake of Galilee… The wine of life is spilt upon the… My heart is as some famine—murdere…
ITALIA! thou art fallen, though… Of battle—spears thy clamorous arm… From the north Alps to the Sicili… Ay! fallen, though the nations hai… Because rich gold in every town is…
O well for him who lives at ease With garnered gold in wide domain, Nor heeds the splashing of the rai… The crashing down of forest trees.… O well for him who ne’er hath know…
THE oleander on the wall Grows crimson in the dawning light… Though the grey shadows of the nig… Lie yet on Florence like a pall. The dew is bright upon the hill,
We caught the tread of dancing fee… We loitered down the moonlit stree… And stopped beneath the harlot’s h… Inside, above the din and fray, We heard the loud musicians play
I wandered through Scoglietto’s f… The oranges on each o’erhanging sp… Burned as bright lamps of gold to… Some startled bird with fluttering… Made snow of all the blossoms; at…
Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies… Sad olive—groves, or silver—breast… Teach me more clearly of Thy life… Than terrors of red flame and thun… The hillside vines dear memories o…
O SINGER of Persephone! In the dim meadows desolate Dost thou remember Sicily? Still through the ivy flits the be… Where Amaryllis lies in state;
(To Sarah Bernhardt) How vain and dull this common worl… To such a One as thou, who should… At Florence with Mirandola, or wa… Through the cool olives of the Ac…
EAGLE of Austerlitz! where were… When far away upon a barbarous str… In fight unequal, by an obscure ha… Fell the last scion of thy brood o… Poor boy! thou wilt not flaunt thy…