#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury #1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
From pleasure of the bed, Dull as a worm, His rod and its butting head Limp as a worm, His spirit that has fled
MANY ingenious lovely things are gone That seemed sheer miracle to the multitu… protected from the circle of the moon That pitches common things about. Ther… Amid the ornamental bronze and stone
The intellect of man is forced to choose perfection of the life, or of the work, And if it take the second must refuse A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark. When all that story’s finished, what’s t…
#1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
THE moments passed as at a play; I had the wisdom love brings forth; I had my share of mother-wit, And yet for all that I could say, And though I had her praise for it,
‘She will change,’ I cried. ‘Into a withered crone.’ The heart in my side, That so still had lain, In noble rage replied
I dreamed as in my bed I lay, All night’s fathomless wisdom come, That I had shorn my locks away And laid them on Love’s lettered tomb: But something bore them out of sight
Things out of perfection sail, And all their swelling canvas wear, Nor shall the self-begotten fail Though fantastic men suppose Building-yard and stormy shore,
That is no country for old men. The you… In one another’s arms, birds in the tree… —Those dying generations—at their song, The salmon—falls, the mackerel—crowded s… Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer…
#1928 #TheTower
KNOW, that I would accounted be True brother of a company That sang, to sweeten Ireland’s wrong, Ballad and story, rann and song; Nor be I any less of them,
‘O WORDS are lightly spoken,’ Said Pearse to Connolly, ‘Maybe a breath of politic words Has withered our Rose Tree; Or maybe but a wind that blows
I AM tired of cursing the Bishop, (Said Crazy Jane) Nine books or nine hats Would not make him a man. I have found something worse
THE GYRES! the gyres! Old Rocky Fac… Things thought too long can be no longer… For beauty dies of beauty, worth of wort… And ancient lineaments are blotted out. Irrational streams of blood are staining…
‘THOUGH logic-choppers rule the town, And every man and maid and boy Has marked a distant object down, An aimless joy is a pure joy,’ Or so did Tom O’Roughley say
I did the dragon’s will until you came Because I had fancied love a casual Improvisation, or a settled game That followed if I let the kerchief fal… Those deeds were best that gave the minu…
Were you but lying cold and dead, And lights were paling out of the West, You would come hither, and bend your hea… And I would lay my head on your breast; And you would murmur tender words,
#1899 #TheWindAmongTheReeds
