#1910 #IrishWriters #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
Half close your eyelids, loosen yo… And dream about the great and thei… They have spoken against you every… But weigh this song with the great… I made it out of a mouthful of air…
THE old brown thorn-trees break i… Under a bitter black wind that blo… Our courage breaks like an old tre… But we have hidden in our hearts t… Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houl…
Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That’s all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth,
PYTHAGORAS planned it. Why d… His numbers, though they moved or… In marble or in bronze, lacked cha… But boys and girls, pale from the… Of solitary beds, knew what they w…
A MAN I praise that once in Tar… Said to the woman on his knees, ‘… My hundredth year is at an end.… That something is about to happen,… That the adventure of old age begi…
A BLOODY and a sudden end, Gunshot or a noose, For Death who takes what man woul… Leaves what man would lose. He might have had my sister,
That lover of a night Came when he would, Went in the dawning light Whether I would or no; Men come, men go;
LOCKE sank into a swoon; The Garden died; God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side. Where got I that truth?
I CRIED when the moon was mutmu… ‘Let peewit call and curlew cry wh… I long for your merry and tender a… For the roads are unending, and th… The honey-pale moon lay low on the…
I know that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I fight I do not hate Those that I guard I do not love; My country is Kiltartan Cross,
I walked among the seven woods of… Shan-walla, where a willow-hordere… Gathers the wild duck from the win… Shady Kyle-dortha; sunnier Kyle-n… Where many hundred squirrels are a…
BEAUTIFUL lofty things: O’Le… My father upon the Abbey stage, b… ‘This Land of Saints,’ and then a… 'Of plaster Saints’; his beautifu… Standish O’Grady supporting himse…
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,
ALL the heavy days are over; Leave the body’s coloured pride Underneath the grass and clover, With the feet laid side by side. One with her are mirth and duty;
I asked if i should pray. But the Brahmin said, ‘pray for nothing, say Every night in bed, ’I have been a king,