The Wild Swans at Coole. 1919.
#IrishWriters #NobelPrize
THREE old hermits took the air By a cold and desolate sea, First was muttering a prayer, Second rummaged for a flea; On a windy stone, the third,
Out-Worn heart, in a time out-wor… Come clear of the nets of wrong an… Laugh, heart, again in the grey tw… Sigh, heart, again in the dew of t… Your mother Eire is aways young,
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…
SELECTED FROM THE IR… THERE was a green branch hung wi… When her own people ruled this tra… And from its murmuring greenness,… A Druid kindness, on all hearers…
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,
We that have done and thought, That have thought and done, Must ramble, and thin out Like milk spilt on a stone.
I hear the Shadowy Horses, their… Their hoofs heavy with tumult, the… The North unfolds above them clin… The East her hidden joy before th… The West weeps in pale dew and si…
‘WHAT have I earned for all that… ‘For all that I have done at my o… The daily spite of this unmannerly… Where who has served the most is m… The reputation of his lifetime los…
POETRY, music, I have loved, an… Because of those new dead That come into my soul and escape Confusion of the bed, Or those begotten or unbegotten
The Danaan children laugh, in cra… And clap their hands together, and… For they will ride the North when… With heavy whitening wings, and a… I kiss my wailing child and press…
I have met them at close of day Coming with vivid faces From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. I have passed with a nod of the he…
We sat together at one summer’s en… That beautiful mild woman, your cl… And you and I, and talked of poet… I said, ‘A line will take us hour… Yet if it does not seem a moment’s…
‘Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone
THERE’S many a strong farmer Whose heart would break in two, If he could see the townland That we are riding to; Boughs have their fruit and blosso…
Once, when midnight smote the air, Eunuchs ran through Hell and met On every crowded street to stare Upon great Juan riding by: Even like these to rail and sweat