#IrishWriters #NobelPrize
They hold their public meetings wh… Our most renowned patriots stand, One among the birds of the air, A stumpier on either hand; And all the popular statesmen say
SHE might, so noble from head To great shapely knees, The long flowing line, Have walked to the altar Through the holy images
BEAUTIFUL lofty things: O’Le… My father upon the Abbey stage, b… ‘This Land of Saints,’ and then a… 'Of plaster Saints’; his beautifu… Standish O’Grady supporting himse…
The dews drop slowly and dreams ga… Suddenly hurtle before my dream-aw… And then the clash of fallen horse… Of unknown perishing armies beat a… We who still labour by the cromlec…
That crazed girl improvising her m… Her poetry, dancing upon the shore… Her soul in division from itself Climbing, falling She knew not wh… Hiding amid the cargo of a steamsh…
Your hooves have stamped at the bl… Even where horrible green parrots… My works are all stamped down into… I knew that horse-play, knew it fo… What wholesome sun has ripened is…
FOR one throb of the artery, While on that old grey stone I Sa… Under the old wind-broken tree, I knew that One is animate, Mankind inanimate fantasy’.
HURRAH for revolution and more… A beggar upon horseback lashes a b… Hurrah for revolution and cannon c… The beggars have changed places, b…
REMEMBER all those renowned ge… They left their bodies to fatten t… They left their homesteads to fatt… Fled to far countries, or sheltere… In cavern, crevice, or hole,
Shepherd. That cry’s from the fir… I wished before it ceased. Goatherd. Nor bird nor beast Could make me wish for anything th… Being old, but that the old alone…
COME swish around, my pretty pun… And keep me dancing still That I may stay a sober man Although I drink my fill. Sobriety is a jewel
WHAT woman hugs her infant there… Another star has shot an ear. What made the drapery glisten so? Not a man but Delacroix. What made the ceiling waterproof?
Though nurtured like the sailing m… In beauty’s murderous brood, She walked awhile and blushed awhi… And on my pathway stood Until I thought her body bore
THE old brown thorn-trees break i… Under a bitter black wind that blo… Our courage breaks like an old tre… But we have hidden in our hearts t… Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houl…
All things uncomely and broken, al… The cry of a child by the roadway,… The heavy steps of the ploughman,… Are wronging your image that bloss… The wrong of unshapely things is a…