#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
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 THOUGHT no more was needed Youth to prolong Than dumb-bell and foil To keep the body young. Oh, who could have foretold
#1919 #TheWildSwansAtCoole
Down by the salley gardens my love and… She passed the salley gardens with littl… She bid me take love easy, as the leaves… But I, being young and foolish, with he… In a field by the river my love and I d…
#1889 #TheWanderingsOfOisinAndOtherPoems
I KNOW that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I fight I do not hate, Those that I guard I do not love; My county is Kiltartan Cross,
ALL the heavy days are over; Leave the body’s coloured pride Underneath the grass and clover, With the feet laid side by side. Bathed in flaming founts of duty
A MAN I praise that once in Tara’s Ha… Said to the woman on his knees, ‘Lie st… My hundredth year is at an end. I thin… That something is about to happen, I th… That the adventure of old age begins.
INDIGNANT at the fumbling wits, the… Of our old paudeen in his shop, I stumb… Among the stones and thorn-trees, under… Until a curlew cried and in the luminous… A curlew answered; and suddenly thereupo…
A SPECKLED cat and a tame hare Eat at my hearthstone And sleep there; And both look up to me alone For learning and defence
Who talks of Plato’s spindle; What set it whirling round? Eternity may dwindle, Time is unwound, Dan and Jerry Lout
DEAR fellow-artist, why so free With every sort of company, With every Jack and Jill? Choose your companions from the best; Who draws a bucket with the rest
SAID lady once to lover, ‘None can rely upon A love that lacks its proper food; And if your love were gone How could you sing those songs of love?
I– CRAZY JANE AND THE BISHOP Bring me to the blasted oak That I, midnight upon the stroke, (All find safety in the tomb.) May call down curses on his head
#1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
Bring me to the blasted oak That I, midnight upon the stroke, (All find safety in the tomb.) May call down curses on his head Because of my dear Jack that’s dead.
Pardon, old fathers, if you still remain Somewhere in ear-shot for the story’s en… Old Dublin merchant “free of the ten an… Or trading out of Galway into Spain; Old country scholar, Robert Emmet’s fri…
Under the Great Comedian’s tomb the cro… A bundle of tempestuous cloud is blown About the sky; where that is clear of cl… Brightness remains; a brighter star shoo… What shudders run through all that anima…
