#IrishWriters
—Albert Parsons went to his death singing Annie Laurie; didn’t another have a rose in his coat–
I would be a torch unto your hand, A lamp upon your forehead, Labor, In the wild darkness before the D… That I shall never see… We shall advance together, my Bel…
The old men of the world have made… To warm their trembling hands. They poke the young men in. The young men burn like withes. If one run a little way,
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...
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’…
It is dark’¦ so dark, I remember… It is still’¦ so still, I hear t… Ten times we had watched the moon Rise like a thin white virgin out… And round into a full maternity’¦
When you tell mama you are going to do something grea… she looks at you as though you were a window she were trying to see through,
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,
I see you, refulgent ones, Burning so steadily Like big white arc lights... There are so many of you. I like to watch you weaving—
Life You have been good to me... You have not made yourself too dea… to juggle with.
Is it you I see go by the window,… at me nor any one, And your shadow swaying from East… Strange that you should be walking… And your legs tied up with a knot…
When Art goes bounding, lean, Up hill-tops fired green To pluck a rose for life. Life like a broody hen Cluck-clucks him back again.
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 -
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.
I love you, malcontent Male wind— Shaking the pollen from a flower Or hurling the sea backward from t… Blow on and over my dreams...