Violence upon the roads: violence of ho… Some few have handsome riders, are garla… On delicate sensitive ear or tossing man… But wearied running round and round in t… All break and vanish, and evil gathers h…

O but there is wisdom In what the sages said; But stretch that body for a while And lay down that head Till I have told the sages

Though the great song return no more There’s keen delight in what we have: The rattle of pebbles on the shore Under the receding wave.

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

Some may have blamed you that you took a… The verses that could move them on the d… When, the ears being deafened, the sight… With lightning, you went from me, and I… Nothing to make a song about but kings,

I had this thought awhile 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

Acquaintance; companion; One dear brilliant woman; The best-endowed, the elect, All by their youth undone, All, all, by that inhuman

The old priest Peter Gilligan Was weary night and day For half his flock were in their beds Or under green sods lay. Once, while he nodded in a chair

If I make the lashes dark And the eyes more bright And the lips more scarlet, Or ask if all be right From mirror after mirror,

Some moralist or mythological poet Compares the solitary soul to a swan; I am satisfied with that, Satisfied if a troubled mirror show it, Before that brief gleam of its life be g…

Between extremities Man runs his course; A brand, or flaming breath. Comes to destroy All those antinomies