ROSE of all Roses, Rose of all the Wo… The tall thought-woven sails, that flap… Above the tide of hours, trouble the air… And God’s bell buoyed to be the water’s… While hushed from fear, or loud with hop…

O curlew, cry no more in the air, Or only to the water in the West; Because your crying brings to my mind passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair That was shaken out over my breast:

i{"Though to my feathers in the wet,} i{I have stood here from break of day.} i{I have not found a thing to eat,} i{For only rubbish comes my way.} i{Am I to live on lebeen-lone?'}

The old priest Peter Gilligan Was weary night and day For half his flock were in their beds Or under green sods lay. Once, while he nodded in a chair

THEY must to keep their certainty accu… All that are different of a base intent; Pull down established honour; hawk for n… Whatever their loose fantasy invent And murmur it with bated breath, as thou…

While I, that reed-throated whisperer Who comes at need, although not now as o… A clear articulation in the air, But inwardly, surmise companions Beyond the fling of the dull ass’s hoof

WHAT’S riches to him That has made a great peacock With the pride of his eye? The wind-beaten, stone-grey, And desolate Three Rock

Though nurtured like the sailing moon In beauty’s murderous brood, She walked awhile and blushed awhile And on my pathway stood Until I thought her body bore

Ah, but Time has touched a form That could show what Homer’s age Bred to be a hero’s wage. ‘Were not all her life but storm, Would not painters paint a form

WHEN you and my true lover meet And he plays tunes between your feet. Speak no evil of the soul, Nor think that body is the whole, For I that am his daylight lady

Through winter-time we call on spring, And through the spring on summer call, And when abounding hedges ring Declare that winter’s best of all; And after that there’s nothing good