#1933 #IrishWriters #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
Though leaves are many, the root i… Through all the lying days of my y… I swayed my leaves and flowers in… Now I may wither into the truth.
COME play with me; Why should you run Through the shaking tree As though I’d a gun To strike you dead?
While I wrought out these fitful… My heart would brim with dreams ab… When we bent down above the fading… And talked of the dark folk who li… Of passionate men, like bats in th…
The deck of an ancient ship. At the right of the stage is the mast, with a large square sail hiding a great deal of the sky and sea on that side. The tiller is at the left of the stag...
Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.
Far-Off, most secret, and inviola… Enfold me in my hour of hours; whe… Who sought thee in the Holy Sepul… Or in the wine-vat, dwell beyond t… And tumult of defeated dreams; and…
My Soul. I summon to the winding… Set all your mind upon the steep a… Upon the broken, crumbling battlem… Upon the breathless starlit air, Upon the star that marks the hidde…
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
SHE might, so noble from head To great shapely knees, The long flowing line, Have walked to the altar Through the holy images
The intellect of man is forced to… perfection of the life, or of the… And if it take the second must ref… A heavenly mansion, raging in the… When all that story’s finished, wh…
First Love THOUGH nurtured like the sailin… In beauty’s murderous brood, She walked awhile and blushed awhi… And on my pathway stood
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 HAVE heard the pigeons of the… Make their faint thunder, and the… Hum in the lime-tree flowers; and… The unavailing outcries and the ol… That empty the heart. I have forg…
I admit the briar Entangled in my hair Did not injure me; My blenching and trembling, Nothing but dissembling,
We that have done and thought, That have thought and done, Must ramble, and thin out Like milk spilt on a stone.
