The people have drunk the wine of… In the streets of town. They smile as they drift with hear… Uphill and down. The people have drunk the wine of…

Today they made a bonfire Close to the cherry tree And smoke like incense drifted Through the white tracery. I think the gardener really

I wish you’d seen that dirty littl… Finger at nose, Peeking and ginking at some girls… Seated on the high window-sills to… One of the girls had hair as brigh…

I dreamt last night That spring had come. Across green fields I saw a blur Of crimson-blossomed plum. I’ve never known

This morning I got up before the… Had seized the hill, And scrambled heart-hot, noisy, pa… In sleep laid still. There they lay helpless under the…

Whenever I think of you, you are… Shut by yourself between Great walls of stone. There is a stool, I think, and a… And a mat underneath your feet;

Do you remember still the little s… I mumbled on the hill at Aura, ho… I told you it was made for Katie’… When I was fresh from school and… With all the strength of girlhood?…

When I am so worn out I cannot sl… And yet I know I have to work nex… Or lose my job, I sometimes have… To one long dead, who listens when… I ask Saint Rose of Lima for the…

They are so glad of a young compan… They hail and bless me, these boys… And I whose pathway was dark and… Have no more need of the sun to sh… We’ll walk in darkness, obscure, d…

He had served eighty masters. The… He 'worked for these employers’ to… And they, if they had heard him, w… To brand him inefficient whom they… For to know eighty masters is to k…

Frolic mountain winds Innocent and shy, Kiss my darling’s cheek As they scurry by. Little fragrant leaves

Every night I hurry home to see If a letter’s there from you to me… Every night I bow my head and say… ‘There’s no word at all from him t…

Flowers have uncountable ways of p… Not solid, but moonlight or sunlig… Primroses strive for the colour of… Dew-besprent. Freesias are flames wherein light…

She has all Ireland in her blood, All Ireland’s need of sword and t… With memories dim before the flood… And conflicts of a thousand years. No son of Italy should love

I lie in the dark Grass beneath and you above me, Curved like the sky, Insistent that you love me. But the high stars