#IrishWriters #NobelPrize #1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
Dry timber under that rich foliage… At wine-dark midnight in the sacre… Too old for a man’s love I stood… Imagining men. Imagining that I… A greater with a lesser pang assua…
THEY must to keep their certaint… All that are different of a base i… Pull down established honour; hawk… Whatever their loose fantasy inven… And murmur it with bated breath, a…
I sought a theme and sought for it… I sought it daily for six weeks or… Maybe at last, being but a broken… I must be satisfied with my heart,… Winter and summer till old age beg…
Some may have blamed you that you… The verses that could move them on… When, the ears being deafened, the… With lightning, you went from me,… Nothing to make a song about but k…
GOD grant a blessing on this towe… And on my heirs, if all remain uns… No table, or chair or stool not si… For shepherd lads in Galilee; and… That I myself for portions of the…
BECAUSE we love bare hills and… And were the last to choose the se… Its boredom of the desk or of the… So many years companioned by a hou… Our voices carry; and though slumb…
FASTEN your hair with a golden… And bind up every wandering tress; I bade my heart build these poor r… It worked at them, day out, day in… Building a sorrowful loveliness
There was a green branch hung with… When her own people ruled this tra… And from its murmuring greenness,… A Druid kindness, on all hearers… It charmed away the merchant from…
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…
A SPECKLED cat and a tame hare Eat at my hearthstone And sleep there; And both look up to me alone For learning and defence
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,
‘THOUGH logic-choppers rule the… And every man and maid and boy Has marked a distant object down, An aimless joy is a pure joy,’ Or so did Tom O’Roughley say
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
Pardon, old fathers, if you still… Somewhere in ear-shot for the stor… Old Dublin merchant “free of the… Or trading out of Galway into Spa… Old country scholar, Robert Emmet…
Though you are in your shining day… Voices among the crowd And new friends busy with your pra… Be not unkind or proud, But think about old friends the mo…
