I know of a thrush’s nest, a prett… I know of a thrush’s nest with thr… It is in the perfumed pine, the ta… It is in the cool dark wood that… I know of a speckled trout, a nobl…

White rose must die all in the you… Though nightingale should sing the… Though summer breezes woo, She will not hear. Too delicate for the sun’s kiss so…

Is the tree living I once thought… Mo chraoibhin aoibhinn O, It were a pity had its green life… So lovely are its branches in thei… And singing leaves telling of days…

Here’s a meadow full of sunshine Ripe grasses lush and high; There’s a reaper on the roadway, And a lark hangs in the sky. There’s a nest of love enclosing

There I cannot find thee, O my lo… In the city’s clamour, In its pleasure’s glamour; ‘Mid the multitude of faces Or the wilderness of places

Now here is where I fail to under… And put my question in all reveren… On bended knee with head most lowl… To the All-High, All-Knowing Pr… A girl whose fate had left her wid…

Before my time my kindred were As felons in their land, Because they claimed the liberty That freemen understand. Ere I was born in Dublin town

Lighted by the lady moon, Breezes blow and aspens quiver, By the stream’s enchanted tune Singing to the distant river, Walks Cecilia.

‘What ails you that you look so pa… O fisher of the sea?’ ‘Tis for a mournful tale I own, Fair maiden Marjorie.’ ‘What is the dreary tale to tell,

‘Halt, who goes there?’ 'Tis for… In long processions see what gifts… Here cometh Care with sheaf of tr… And here is Grief with dish of wo… Frail Glory, too, holds out her h…

When first you came to London Tow… Just five years old, I said—‘He’ll ask for marble hall… All paved with gold!’ I thought—‘He’ll weep, so stricke…

I saw an Eastern God to-day; My comrades laughed; lest I betra… My secret thoughts, I mocked him… His many hands (he had no few, This God of gifts and charity),

centeredA TRUE STORY I am a man who hath known trouble, O’Ruarc of the Lake. On my life’s glass joy rose as a b… To glitter and break.

‘The World were a place to play i… ‘The playground of the present; al… No past is ours to sorrow, No clouding thought of morrow, And joy is slow in passing where w…

Mo páistin deas, I did not know How cold the winter’s blast could… Into her heart, with what despair Earth drew her bloom and blossom f… How lone a man might come and go