#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
It is now more than ten years since I met, for the last time, Michael Robartes, and for the first time and the last time his friends and fellow students; and witnessed his and their tra...
#IrIshWriters
BECAUSE we love bare hills and stunte… And were the last to choose the settled… Its boredom of the desk or of the spade,… So many years companioned by a hound, Our voices carry; and though slumber-bou…
‘She will change,’ I cried. ‘Into a withered crone.’ The heart in my side, That so still had lain, In noble rage replied
They hold their public meetings where Our most renowned patriots stand, One among the birds of the air, A stumpier on either hand; And all the popular statesmen say
#1928 #TheTower
The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare; Caoilte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
#1899 #TheWindAmongTheReeds
THE old brown thorn-trees break in two… Under a bitter black wind that blows fro… Our courage breaks like an old tree in a… But we have hidden in our hearts the fla… Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan.
I rage at my own image in the glass, That’s so unlike myself that when you pr… It is as though you praised another, or… Mocked me with praise of my mere opposit… And when I wake towards morn I dread my…
I HAD this thought a while ago, ‘My darling cannot understand What I have done, or what would do In this blind bitter land.’ And I grew weary of the sun
BEING out of heart with government I took a broken root to fling Where the proud, wayward squirrel went, Taking delight that he could spring; And he, with that low whinnying sound
I WHISPERED, ‘I am too young,’ And then, 'I am old enough’; Wherefore I threw a penny To find out if I might love. ‘Go and love, go and love, young man,
O BUT we talked at large before The sixteen men were shot, But who can talk of give and take, What should be and what not While those dead men are loitering there
A Dramatic Poem The deck of an ancient ship. At the ri… with a large square sail hiding a great… on that side. The tiller is at the left… coming through an opening in the bulwark…
FOR one throb of the artery, While on that old grey stone I Sat Under the old wind-broken tree, I knew that One is animate, Mankind inanimate fantasy’.
O what to me the little room That was brimmed up with prayer and rest… He bade me out into the gloom, And my breast lies upon his breast. O what to me my mother’s care,
I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing,
#1899 #Ballad #RhymedStanza #TheWindAmongTheReeds