#IrishWriters
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…
You say, as I have often given to… In praise of what another’s said o… ’Twere politic to do the like by t… But was there ever dog that praise…
O BUT we talked at large before The sixteen men were shot, But who can talk of give and take, What should be and what not While those dead men are loitering…
O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed… The poets labouring all their days To build a perfect beauty in rhyme Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze And by the unlabouring brood of th…
Fled foam underneath us, and round… High as the Saddle-girth, coverin… And those that fled, and that foll… The immortal desire of Immortals… I mused on the chase with the Fen…
I SAY that Roger Casement Did what he had to do. He died upon the gallows, But that is nothing new. Afraid they might be beaten
I walked among the seven woods of… Shan-walla, where a willow-hordere… Gathers the wild duck from the win… Shady Kyle-dortha; sunnier Kyle-n… Where many hundred squirrels are a…
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,
It is now more than ten years since I met, for the last time, Michael Robartes, and for the first time and the last time his friends and fellow students; and witnessed his and their tra...
I THOUGHT no more was needed Youth to prolong Than dumb-bell and foil To keep the body young. Oh, who could have foretold
DANCE there upon the shore; What need have you to care For wind or water’s roar? And tumble out your hair That the salt drops have wet;
What lively lad most pleasured me Of all that with me lay? I answer that I gave my soul And loved in misery, But had great pleasure with a lad
Now must I these three praise— Three women that have wrought What joy is in my days: One because no thought, Nor those unpassing cares,
Things out of perfection sail, And all their swelling canvas wear… Nor shall the self-begotten fail Though fantastic men suppose Building-yard and stormy shore,
AN old man cocked his ear upon a… He and his friend, their faces to… Had trod the uneven road. Their b… Their Connemara cloth worn out of… They had kept a steady pace as tho…