#IrishWriters
A BLOODY and a sudden end, Gunshot or a noose, For Death who takes what man woul… Leaves what man would lose. He might have had my sister,
III Slim adolescence that a nymph has… Peleus on Thetis stares. Her limbs are delicate as an eyeli… Love has blinded him with tears;
All things uncomely and broken, All things worn-out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, The creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the ploughman,
Her Courtesy WITH the old kindness, the old d… She lies, her lovely piteous head… Propped upon pillows, rouge on the… She would not have us sad because…
BIRD sighs for the air, Thought for I know not where, For the womb the seed sighs. Now sinks the same rest On mind, on nest,
‘What do you make so fair and brig… ‘I make the cloak of Sorrow: O lovely to see in all men’s sight Shall be the cloak of Sorrow, In all men’s sight.’
Who talks of Plato’s spindle; What set it whirling round? Eternity may dwindle, Time is unwound, Dan and Jerry Lout
O THOUGHT, fly to her when the… Awakens an old memory, and say, ‘Your strength, that is so lofty a… It might call up a new age, callin… The queens that were imagined long…
PYTHAGORAS planned it. Why d… His numbers, though they moved or… In marble or in bronze, lacked cha… But boys and girls, pale from the… Of solitary beds, knew what they w…
Out-Worn heart, in a time out-wor… Come clear of the nets of wrong an… Laugh, heart, again in the grey tw… Sigh, heart, again in the dew of t… Your mother Eire is aways young,
ALL the heavy days are over; Leave the body’s coloured pride Underneath the grass and clover, With the feet laid side by side. One with her are mirth and duty;
I DREAMED that one had died in… Near no accustomed hand, And they had nailed the boards abo… The peasants of that land, Wondering to lay her in that solit…
THERE is grey in your hair. Young men no longer suddenly catch… When you are passing; But maybe some old gaffer mutters… Because it was your prayer
The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed; Grey Truth is now her painted toy… Yet still she turns her restless h…
I admit the briar Entangled in my hair Did not injure me; My blenching and trembling, Nothing but dissembling,