#IrishWriters
HE gathered cherry-stones, and ca… Into fine semblances of flies and… With subtle skill, he even imaged… The forms of tiny maids and ivied… His little blocks he loved to file…
I am tired of planning and toiling In the crowded hives of men; Heart-weary of building and spoili… And spoiling and building again. And I long for the dear old river…
GOD’S order, ‘Light!’ when all w… Brought mornless noon, a flame wit… A gift unearned, that none may hol… An outer glory, not an inner guide… But flamed no star in heaven to li…
MY friend he was; my friend from… With childlike faith he oped to me… No door was locked on altar, grave… No weakness veiled, concealed no d… The hope, the sorrow and the wrong…
Life is a certainty, Death is a doubt; Men may be dead While they’re walking about. Love is as needful
The bees are in the meadow And the swallows in the sky; The cattle in the shadow Watch the river running by. The wheat is hardly stirring;
THERE is an old tradition sacred… That says: 'Upon St. Martin’s Ev… No fishermen of Wexford shall, up… Set sail or cast a line within the… The tongue that framed the order,…
WHAT song is best for the soldie… Take no heed of the words, nor cho… Let it burst out from the heart li… Natural, clear, resistless, leapin… Whether of love or hate or war or…
HOW did he live, this dead man he… With the temple above his grave? He lived as a great one, from crad… He was nursed in luxury, trained i… When the wish was born, it was gra…
AS grains from chaff, I sift thes… Kernels of wisdom, from the husks… Benevolence befits the wisest mind… But he who has not studied to be k… Who grants for asking, gives witho…
From that fair land and drear land… Of which through years I do not c… I brought a tale, learned not by w… But formed by finding here one gol… And there another; and with hands…
NOT many friends Wish I you; Love makes amends For the few. Slight bonds are best
DEAD, with his harness on him: Rigid and cold and white, Marking the place of the vanguard Still in the ancient fight. The climber dead on the hill-side,
IN the Spring we see: Then the buds are dear to us—immat… In the Summer we live: When bright eyes are near to us, o… In the Autumn we love:
THERE once was a pirate, greedy… Who ravaged for gain, and saved th… Till his coffers were bursting wit… And millions of captives bore his… Then fear took hold of him, and he…