#IrishWriters
Sleep Now, O Sleep Now Sleep now, O sleep now, O you unquiet heart! A voice crying “Sleep now” Is heard in my heart.
Winds of May, that dance on the s… Dancing a ring—around in glee From furrow to furrow, while overh… The foam flies up to be garlanded, In silvery arches spanning the air…
A birdless heaven, seadusk, one lo… Piercing the west, As thou, fond heart, love’s time,… Rememberest. The clear young eyes’ soft look, t…
When the shy star goes forth in he… All maidenly, disconsolate, Hear you amid the drowsy even One who is singing by your gate. His song is softer than the dew
The summer evening had begun to fold the world in its mysterious embrace. Far away in the west the sun was setting and the last glow of all too fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and...
Now, O now, in this brown land Where Love did so sweet music mak… We two shall wander, hand in hand, Forbearing for old friendship’ sak… Nor grieve because our love was ga…
Because your voice was at my side I gave him pain, Because within my hand I held Your hand again. There is no word nor any sign
O bella bionda, Sei come l’onda! Of cool sweet dew and radiance mil… The moon a web of silence weaves In the still garden where a child
He Who Hath Glory Lost He who hath glory lost, nor hath Found any soul to fellow his, Among his foes in scorn and wrath Holding to ancient nobleness,
My love is in a light attire Among the apple—trees, Where the gay winds do most desire To run in companies. There, where the gay winds stay to…
They mouth love’s language. Gnash The thirteen teeth Your lean jaws grin with. Lash Your itch and quailing, nude greed… Love’s breath in you is stale, wor…
Wind whines and whines the shingle… The crazy pierstakes groan; A senile sea numbers each single Slimesilvered stone. From whining wind and colder
What counsel has the hooded moon Put in thy heart, my shyly sweet, Of Love in ancient plenilune, Glory and stars beneath his feet —… A sage that is but kith and kin
O cool is the valley now And there, love, will we go For many a choir is singing now Where Love did sometime go. And hear you not the thrushes call…
Of that so sweet imprisonment My soul, dearest, is fain —— Soft arms that woo me to relent And woo me to detain. Ah, could they ever hold me there