#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury #1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
WHAT need you, being come to sense, But fumble in a greasy till And add the halfpence to the pence And prayer to shivering prayer, until You have dried the marrow from the bone?
On Cruachan’s plain slept he That must sing in a rhyme What most could shake his soul: ‘The stallion Eternity Mounted the mare of Time,
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 BUT we talked at large before The sixteen men were shot, But who can talk of give and take, What should be and what not While those dead men are loitering there
SELECTED FROM THE IRISH NO… THERE was a green branch hung with man… When her own people ruled this tragic E… And from its murmuring greenness, calm o… A Druid kindness, on all hearers fell.
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
SAID lady once to lover, ‘None can rely upon A love that lacks its proper food; And if your love were gone How could you sing those songs of love?
Some moralist or mythological poet Compares the solitary soul to a swan; I am satisfied with that, Satisfied if a troubled mirror show it, Before that brief gleam of its life be g…
That is no country for old men. The you… In one another’s arms, birds in the tree… —Those dying generations—at their song, The salmon—falls, the mackerel—crowded s… Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer…
#1928 #TheTower
I LIVED among great houses, Riches drove out rank, Base drove out the better blood, And mind and body shrank. No Oscar ruled the table,
‘CALL down the hawk from the air; Let him be hooded or caged Till the yellow eye has grown mild, For larder and spit are bare, The old cook enraged,
My Soul. I summon to the winding ancien… 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 pole…
#1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
BEING out of heart with government I took a broken root to fling Where the proud, wayward squirrel went, Taking delight that he could spring; And he, with that low whinnying sound
THE GYRES! the gyres! Old Rocky Fac… Things thought too long can be no longer… For beauty dies of beauty, worth of wort… And ancient lineaments are blotted out. Irrational streams of blood are staining…
We sat under an old thorn-tree And talked away the night, Told all that had been said or done Since first we saw the light, And when we talked of growing up
