#IrishWriters
Whose is the voice that will not l… I hear it speak. Where is the shore will gratify my… Show what I seek? Not yours, weak Muse, to mimic th…
Why, Love! I thought you were gay… Merry of mien and debonair. What then means this brow so black… Whose sullen gloom twin eyes give… Poor little god in tears, alack!
I closed my hands upon a moth And when I drew my palms apart, Instead of dusty, broken wings, I found a bleeding human heart. I crushed my foot upon a worm
Oh! do not rudely wake her, nor re… Those pulsing limbs for this hosti… To timid life, that cast in death-… What he had moulded for his ecstas… Nay! rather pity one so keen to le…
White feet half hid in violets, sm… A burden of Spring’s first blosso… Into wreaths, as she paused a mome… O my child love! hesitating, there… So I stayed till I grew weary—man…
Madge Linsey at the well raised t… Brimmed her brass bucket full, wen… Loose hung her collar her full thr… Rough fell her silken hair, sullen… Went down the village street jaunt…
To clasp his spirit undefiled, my… He said no sad reproach to me, but… O coward my eyes that would not se… O coward my flesh that would not l… He might have said, “This rose I…
See, there he goes, a-pulling his… With frowning brow, and far and ab… On his bowed head the dust of time… And on his parchment cheek life’s… He doth not hear the lark in worsh…
I left my home for travelling; Because I heard the strange birds… In foreign skies, and felt their w… Brush past my soul impatiently; I saw the bloom on flower and tree
‘This is an evil night to go, my s… To the thorn-tree across the fairy… Will you not wait till Hallow Eve… For many are the dangers in your p… ‘I may not wait till Hallow Eve i…
Bring to her spring flowers, Cowslip and celandine, And bid her hear the blackbird’s s… Let pass the sunny hours In her dull room to shine,
If by my tomb some day you careles… A moment grieved by coming on my n… Ah! kneel awhile upon the tender g… In some short prayer acquitting me… If I reached not your pinnacle of…
‘May I go to the field,’ said the… ‘Where the corn grows sweet and hi… ‘Is there aught on the stile,’ sai… ‘Or what do I there espy?’ ‘'Tis a shepherd’s lad, but he dre…
I saw her many years ago, my gladn… She stood amongst the barley field… She walked upon the mountain’s sid… She planted many famine crops with… From rugged rocks and silver shore…
A LEGEND OF GLENDALOUGH It was the bride of Colman Dhu In Glendalough sat down, She hushed the babe upon her breas… Beside the lake so brown.