#1933 #IrishWriters #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
PARNELL came down the road, he… 'Ireland shall get her freedom and…
FIVE-AND-TWENTY years have g… Since old William Pollexfen Laid his strong bones down in deat… By his wife Elizabeth In the grey stone tomb he made.
How can I, that girl standing the… My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics? Yet here’s a travelled man that kn…
There where the course is, Delight makes all of the one mind, The riders upon the galloping hors… The crowd that closes in behind: We, too, had good attendance once,
DO not because this day I have gr… Imagine that lost love, inseparabl… Because I have no other youth, ca… For how should I forget the wisdo… The comfort that you made? Althou…
We that have done and thought, That have thought and done, Must ramble, and thin out Like milk spilt on a stone.
I wander by the edge Of this desolate lake Where wind cries in the sedge: Until the axle break That keeps the stars in their roun…
I passed along the water’s edge be… My spirit rocked in evening light,… My spirit rocked in sleep and sigh… All dripping on a grassy slope, an… Each other round in circles, and h…
When you are old and grey and full… And nodding by the fire, take down… And slowly read, and dream of the… Your eyes had once, and of their s… How many loved your moments of gla…
WE sat together at one summer’s e… That beautiful mild woman, your cl… And you and I, and talked of poet… I said, 'A line will take us hour… Yet if it does not seem a moment’s…
A strange thing surely that my hea… Upon the Norman upland or in that… Should find no burden but itself a… It could not bear that burden and… The south wind brought it longing,…
Turning and turning in the widenin… The falcon cannot hear the falcone… Things fall apart; the centre cann… Mere anarchy is loosed upon the wo… The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, a…
A STATESMAN is an easy man, He tells his lies by rote; A journalist makes up his lies And takes you by the throat; So stay at home’ and drink your be…
While I wrought out these fitful… My heart would brim with dreams ab… When we bent down above the fading… And talked of the dark folk who li… Of passionate men, like bats in th…
ONE had a lovely face, And two or three had charm, But charm and face were in vain Because the mountain grass Cannot but keep the form