#Irish #Women
You can see the sandhills from our… Butterflies live in the sandhills and lizards and centipedes.
Oh, God did cunningly, there at B… Not mere tongues dividing, but sou… So that never again should men be… To fashion one infinite, towering…
That was a great night we spied up… See-sawing home, Singing a hot sweet song to the su… Shuffling off behind the smoke-haz… Fog-horns sentimentalizing on the…
Mama’s face is smooth and pale as tea-rose lea… That ivory oval of aunt Gem you sucked the miniature off had black black hair like mama.
Skyscrapers... remote, unpartisan.… Turning neither to the right nor l… Your imperturbable fronts.... Austerely greeting the sun With one chilly finger of stone...…
Come forth, you workers! Let the fires go cold’ Let the iron spill out, out of the… Let the iron run wild Like a red bramble on the floors’…
Spires of Grace Church, For you the workers of the world Travailed with the mountains’¦ Aborting their own dreams Till the dream of you arose -
Was there a wind? Tap... tap... Night pads upon the snow with moccasined feet... and it is still... so still... an eagle's feather might fall like a stone. Could there have been a storm...
Not yet hast Thou sounded Thy clangorous music, Whose strings are under the mounta… Not yet hast Thou spoken The blooded, implacable Word...
Can you see me, Sasha? I can see you.... A tentacle of the vast dawn is res… that floats as though detached in a sultry and greenish vapor.
The woman with jewels sits in the… Spraying light like a fountain. Diamonds glitter on her bulbous fi… And on her arms, great as thighs, Diamonds gush from her ear-lobes o…
Tender and tremulous green of leav… Turned up by the wind, Twanging among the vines - Wind in the grass Blowing a clear path
Last night I watched a star fall like a great… Till my ego expanding encompassed… Containing both as in a trembling…
I THOUGHT to die that night in… But there was time ... And I lay quietly on the drawn kn… I do not know how long ... I could not count the hours, they…
Not your martyrs anointed of heave… The ages are red where they trod - But the Hunted - the world’s bitt… Who smote at your imbecile God - A being to pander and fawn to,