#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves… The full round moon and the star—laden s… And the loud song of the ever—singing le… Had hid away earth’s old and weary cry. And then you came with those red mournfu…
HOW came this ranger Now sunk in rest, Stranger with strangcr. On my cold breast? What’s left to Sigh for?
All things uncomely and broken, All things worn-out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, The creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the ploughman,
I ranted to the knave and fool, But outgrew that school, Would transform the part, Fit audience found, but cannot rule My fanatic heart.
#1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
THE old brown thorn-trees break in two… Under a bitter black wind that blows fro… Our courage breaks like an old tree in a… But we have hidden in our hearts the fla… Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan.
WE have cried in our despair That men desert, For some trivial affair Or noisy, insolent sport, Beauty that we have won
Old fathers, great-grandfathers, Rise as kindred should. If ever lover’s loneliness Came where you stood, Pray that Heaven protect us
Whence did all that fury come? From empty tomb or Virgin womb? Saint Joseph thought the world would me… But liked the way his finger smelt.
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,
Kusta Ben Luka is my name, I write To Abd Al-Rabban; fellow-roysterer onc… Now the good Caliph’s learned Treasurer… And for no ear but his. Carry this letter
#1928 #TheTower
THE dews drop slowly and dreams gather:… Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened… And then the clash of fallen horsemen an… Of unknown perishing armies beat about m… We who still labour by the cromlech on t…
WHEN all works that have From cradle run to grave From grave to cradle run instead; When thoughts that a fool Has wound upon a spool
I, THE poet William Yeats, With old mill boards and sea-green slate… And smithy work from the Gort forge, Restored this tower for my wife George; And may these characters remain
THE girl goes dancing there On the leaf-sown, new-mown, smooth Grass plot of the garden; Escaped from bitter youth, Escaped out of her crowd,
I went out alone To sing a song or two, My fancy on a man, And you know who. Another came in sight
