#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
I walked among the seven woods of Coole… Shan-walla, where a willow-hordered pond Gathers the wild duck from the winter da… Shady Kyle-dortha; sunnier Kyle-na-no, Where many hundred squirrels are as happ…
A strange thing surely that my heart whe… Upon the Norman upland or in that popla… Should find no burden but itself and yet… It could not bear that burden and theref… The south wind brought it longing, and t…
#1928 #TheTower
I FASTED for some forty days on bread… For passing round the bottle with girls… In country shawl or Paris cloak, had pu… And what’s the good of women, for all th… Is fol de rol de rolly O.
Swayed upon the gaudy stern The butt-end of a steering-oar, And saw wherever I could turn A crown upon the shore. I And though I would have hushed the cr…
#1910 #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
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…
Man IN a cleft that’s christened Alt Under broken stone I halt At the bottom of a pit That broad noon has never lit,
The harlot sang to the beggar-man. I meet them face to face, Conall, Cuchulain, Usna’s boys, All that most ancient race; Maeve had three in an hour, they say.
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
I WHISPERED, ‘I am too young,’ And then, 'I am old enough’; Wherefore I threw a penny To find out if I might love. ‘Go and love, go and love, young man,
Fled foam underneath us, and round us, a… High as the Saddle-girth, covering away… And those that fled, and that followed,… The immortal desire of Immortals we saw… I mused on the chase with the Fenians,…
#1889 #TheWanderingsOfOisinAndOtherPoems
THIS night has been so strange that it… As if the hair stood up on my head. From going-down of the sun I have dream… That women laughing, or timid or wild, In rustle of lace or silken stuff,
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
Shy one, shy one, Shy one of my heart, She moves in the firelight Pensively apart. She carries in the dishes,
I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams, White woman that passion has worn As the tide wears the dove-grey sands, And with heart more old than the horn
#1899 #TheWindAmongTheReeds
BECAUSE there is safety in derision I talked about an apparition, I took no trouble to convince, Or seem plausible to a man of sense. Distrustful of thar popular eye