#IrishWriters #NobelPrize #1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
When you are old and grey and full… And nodding by the fire, take down… And slowly read, and dream of the… Your eyes had once, and of their s… How many loved your moments of gla…
I ranted to the knave and fool, But outgrew that school, Would transform the part, Fit audience found, but cannot rul… My fanatic heart.
POUR wine and dance if manhood s… Bring roses if the rose be yet in… The cataract smokes upon the mount… Our Father Rosicross is in his to… Pull down the blinds, bring fiddle…
I HEARD the old, old men say, ‘Everything alters, And one by one we drop away.’ They had hands like claws, and the… Were twisted like the old thorn-tr…
From pleasure of the bed, Dull as a worm, His rod and its butting head Limp as a worm, His spirit that has fled
I lived among great houses, Riches drove out rank, Base drove out the better blood, And mind and body shrank. No Oscar ruled the table,
I WOULD be ignorant as the dawn That has looked down On that old queen measuring a town With the pin of a brooch, Or on the withered men that saw
I sat on cushioned otter-skin: My word was law from Ith to Emain… And shook at Inver Amergin The hearts of the world-troubling… And drove tumult and war away
HOW came this ranger Now sunk in rest, Stranger with strangcr. On my cold breast? What’s left to Sigh for?
Shakespearean fish swam the sea, f… Romantic fish swam in nets coming… What are all those fish that lie g…
Shepherd. That cry’s from the fir… I wished before it ceased. Goatherd. Nor bird n… Could make me wish for anything th… Being old, but that the old alone…
Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-… That seemed as though ice burned a… And thereupon imagination and hear… So wild that every casual thought… Vanished, and left but memories, t…
I FASTED for some forty days on… For passing round the bottle with… In country shawl or Paris cloak,… And what’s the good of women, for… Is fol de rol de rolly O.
If any man drew near When I was young, I thought, ‘He holds her dear,’ And shook with hate and fear. But O! ‘twas bitter wrong
HERE is fresh matter, poet, Matter for old age meet; Might of the Church and the State… Their mobs put under their feet. O but heart’s wine shall run pure,
