#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury #1910 #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
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
#1928 #TheTower
Be you still, be you still, trembling he… Remember the wisdom out of the old days: Him who trembles before the flame and th… And the winds that blow through the star… Let the starry winds and the flame and t…
#1899 #TheWindAmongTheReeds
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
BIRD sighs for the air, Thought for I know not where, For the womb the seed sighs. Now sinks the same rest On mind, on nest,
GRANDFATHER sang it under the gallo… ‘ Hear, gentlemen, ladies, and all manki… Money is good and a girl might be better… But good strong blows are delights to th… There, standing on the catt,
ONE had a lovely face, And two or three had charm, But charm and face were in vain Because the mountain grass Cannot but keep the form
Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
AROUND me the images of thirty years: An ambush; pilgrims at the water-side; Casement upon trial, half hidden by the… Guarded; Griffith staring in hysterical… Kevin O’Higgins’ countenance that wears
My Soul. I summon to the winding ancie… Set all your mind upon the steep ascent, Upon the broken, crumbling battlement, Upon the breathless starlit air, 'Upon the star that marks the hidden pol…
Undying love to buy I wrote upon The corners of this eye All wrongs done. What payment were enough
I asked if i should pray. But the Brahmin said, ‘pray for nothing, say Every night in bed, ’I have been a king,
#1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
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
(For Harry Clifton) I HAVE heard that hysterical women say They are sick of the palette and fiddle-… Of poets that are always gay, For everybody knows or else should know
Earth in beauty dressed Awaits returning spring. All true love must die, Alter at the best Into some lesser thing.