#Irish #NobelPrize
A MAN that had six mortal wounds… Violent and famous, strode among t… Eyes stared out of the branches an… Then certain Shrouds that muttere… Came and were gone. He leant upo…
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…
That civilisation may not sink, Its great battle lost, Quiet the dog, tether the pony To a distant post; Our master Caesar is in the tent
The true faith discovered was When painted panel, statuary. Glass-mosaic, window-glass, Amended what was told awry By some peasant gospeller;
Once, when midnight smote the air, Eunuchs ran through Hell and met From thoroughfare to thoroughfare, While that great Juan galloped by… And like these to rail and sweat
WHO dreamed that beauty passes li… For these red lips, with all their… Mournful that no new wonder may be… Troy passed away in one high funer… And Usna’s children died.
GRANDFATHER sang it under the… ‘ Hear, gentlemen, ladies, and all… Money is good and a girl might be… But good strong blows are delights… There, standing on the catt,
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cl… Enwrought with golden and silver l… The blue and the dim and the dark… Of night and light and the half-li… I would spread the cloths under yo…
Be you still, be you still, trembl… Remember the wisdom out of the old… Him who trembles before the flame… And the winds that blow through th… Let the starry winds and the flame…
DO not because this day I have gr… Imagine that lost love, inseparabl… Because I have no other youth, ca… For how should I forget the wisdo… The comfort that you made? Althou…
WHAT need you, being come to sen… But fumble in a greasy till And add the halfpence to the pence And prayer to shivering prayer, un… You have dried the marrow from the…
The Powers whose name and shape n… Have pulled the Immortal Rose; And though the Seven Lights bowed… The Polar Dragon slept, His heavy rings uncoiled from glim…
Although I can see him still, The freckled man who goes To a grey place on a hill In grey Connemara clothes At dawn to cast his flies,
WHAT if I bade you leave The cavern of the mind? There’s better exercise In the sunlight and wind. I never bade you go
I wander by the edge Of this desolate lake Where wind cries in the sedge: Until the axle break That keeps the stars in their roun…