#Irish #Women
When I crept over the hill, broke… When I crouched down on the grass… I heard the soft croon of the wind… I felt the light kiss of the wind… When I stood lone on the height m…
The little babe I held upon my kn… Had not yet banished from his slee… The dreams of some lost world from… Nor missed some angel-choirèd para… Strange little soul that claimed m…
With a knock upon the window comes… ’Tis his step upon the threshold;… ‘Oh, will you up and follow, swift… By mountain hill and hollow?’ said… Said the brave volunteer, said the…
Prince Charming, when the wizard’… Had wrecked for aye my fairyland; Had razed my castles to the earth, And killed my child heart with his… Then weeds grew rank where flowers…
A Ballad Father John in the green lane wen… And he drew his robe full tight, ‘I would,’ quoth he, 'I were home… For there’s evil in the night.
How long wilt thou love me, O my… ‘As long as life may be.’ Life is but a breath Breathed us by Death, That we may learn and be the maker…
Where the sword has opened the way… ‘Look! they came, the triumphant a… Over yon hill see their weapons pe… Still I spoke not but my wheel se… I closed my eyes for my heart was…
‘Do you hunt alone to-day, O Red… Pray you tell me, do you hunt all… ‘Ay, I am for the chase, little c… And wish no other spearing save my… ‘And whither are you going, O Red…
I have listened for the beat Of slow wings across the sea. In their strange and dumb retreat From their foreign liberty. Come the birds from northern lands…
[IN MEMORY OF PATRICK P… I saw a dreamer, I saw a poet, On the red battle-field fell my sl… ‘Lover of birds and flowers, singe… Dying with men of war, what do you…
In the grey and dusty morn, Dreaming Jane arose, And from silent room to room With her duster goes. Slipping 'neath her sleepy hand
A Ballad of Good Intentions Four children played by an old oak… Big John and James and little Be… And, threading a chain of daisies… On the leaf-brown sward knelt Ger…
‘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,
Blossomed too soon, little daisies… Leaving the sheltering arms of the… The white tears of Winter unshed… And weary-eyed Sorrow to welcome… See, ’twas cold Winter that woke…
A little dog disturbed my trust in… I praised most faithfully All the great things that be, Man’s pain and pleasure even; I said though hard this weighing