#IrishWriters
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…
IS he well blessed who has no eye… The woeful things that shadow all… The latent brute behind the eyes o… The place and power gained and sta… The weakly victims driven to the w…
THOSE we love truly never die, Though year by year the sad memori… A ring and flowers, types of life… Are laid upon their graves. For death the pure life saves,
YOU have waited, Priests of Irel… You have stood with folded arms un… By the fever and the famine you ha… Till the whisper hissed through I… You have looked with tearless eyes…
A NATION’S greatness lies in m… One master-mind is worth a million… No royal robes have marked the pla… But Samson-strength to burst the… The might of empire gives no crown…
I often, musing, wander back to da… And far-off scenes and long-lost f… A group familiar now I see, who a… My mother, sister Jane, myself, a… I’ll tell you how I see them now.…
NEVER nobler was the Senate, Never grander the debate: Rome’s old gods are on their trial By the judges of the state! Torn by warring creeds, the Fathe…
ONLY a fallen horse, stretched o… Stretched in the broken shafts, an… Only a fallen horse, and a circle… Watching the 'frighted teamster go… Hold! for his toil is over—no more…
I START! I have slept for a mom… I have dreamt, sitting here by her… Oh, how lonely! What was it that… What presence, what heaven-sent ai… It was nothing, you say. But I tr…
THE world was made when a man was… He must taste for himself the forb… He can never take warning from old… He must fight as a boy, he must dr… He must kiss, he must love, he mus…
IT chanced to me upon a time to s… Across the Southern Ocean to and… And, landing at fair isles, by str… Of sensuous blessing did we ofttim… And months of dreamy joys, like jo…
THERE once was a time when, as o… The earth was not round, but an en… The sea was as wide as the heavens… Just millions of miles, and begin… And that was the time—ay, and more…
I WROTE down my troubles every… And after a few short years, When I turned to the heart-aches… I read them with smiles, not tears…
LOVE is a plant with double root… And of strange, elastic power: Men’s minds are divided in naming… But a kiss is only the flower.
Chicago, October 9,1871. GAUNT in the midst of the prairi… She who was once so fair; Charred and rent are her garments, Heavy and dark like cerements;