#Irish #NobelPrize #1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
REMEMBER all those renowned ge… They left their bodies to fatten t… They left their homesteads to fatt… Fled to far countries, or sheltere… In cavern, crevice, or hole,
DO not because this day I have gr… Imagine that lost love, inseparabl… Because I have no other youth, ca… For how should I forget the wisdo… The comfort that you made? Althou…
I THOUGHT no more was needed Youth to prolong Than dumb-bell and foil To keep the body young. Oh, who could have foretold
The light of evening, Lissadell, Great windows open to the south, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. But a raving autumn shears
GOD guard me from those thoughts… In the mind alone; He that sings a lasting song Thinks in a marrow-bone; From all that makes a wise old man
'Love is all Unsatisfied That cannot take the whole Body and soul’; And that is what Jane said.
I THINK it better that in times… A poet’s mouth be silent, for in t… We have no gift to set a statesman… He has had enough of meddling who… A young girl in the indolence of h…
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,
INDIGNANT at the fumbling wits… Of our old paudeen in his shop, I… Among the stones and thorn-trees,… Until a curlew cried and in the lu… A curlew answered; and suddenly th…
Bring me to the blasted oak That I, midnight upon the stroke, (All find safety in the tomb.) May call down curses on his head Because of my dear Jack that’s de…
(Song from an Unfinished Play) My mother dandled me and sang, ‘How young it is, how young!’ And made a golden cradle That on a willow swung.
Do you not hear me calling, white… I have been changed to a hound wit… I have been in the Path of Stones… For somebody hid hatred and hope a… Under my feet that they follow you…
COME swish around, my pretty pun… And keep me dancing still That I may stay a sober man Although I drink my fill. Sobriety is a jewel
I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams, White woman that passion has worn As the tide wears the dove-grey sa… And with heart more old than the h…
WOULD I could cast a sail on th… Where many a king has gone And many a king’s daughter, And alight at the comely trees and… The playing upon pipes and the dan…
