#IrishWriters #NobelPrize
STRETCH towards the moonless mi… As though that hand could reach to… And they but famous old upholsteri… Delightful to the touch; tighten t… As though to draw them closer yet.
Ah, that Time could touch a form That could show what Homer’s age Bred to be a hero’s wage. ‘Were not all her life but storm, Would not painters paint a form
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…
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,
My love, we will go, we will go,… And away in the woods we will scat… And the salmon behold, and the ous… My love, we will hear, I and you,… The calling afar of the doe and th…
Beloved, may your sleep be sound That have found it where you fed. What were all the world’s alarms To mighty paris when he found Sleep upon a golden bed
‘Those Platonists are a curse,’ h… ‘God’s fire upon the wane, A diagram hung there instead, More women born than men.’
Laughter not time destroyed my voi… And put that crack in it, And when the moon’s pot-bellied I get a laughing fit, For that old Madge comes down the…
NOW as at all times I can see in… In their stiff, painted clothes, t… Appear and disappear in the blue d… With all their ancient faces like… And all their helms of silver hove…
Man. In a cleft that’s christened… Under broken stone I halt At the bottom of a pit That broad noon has never lit, And shout a secret to the stone.
While I wrought out these fitful… My heart would brim with dreams ab… When we bent down above the fading… And talked of the dark folk who li… Of passionate men, like bats in th…
Be you still, be you still, trembl… Remember the wisdom out of the old… Him who trembles before the flame… And the winds that blow through th… Let the starry winds and the flame…
WHAT need you, being come to sen… But fumble in a greasy till And add the halfpence to the pence And prayer to shivering prayer, un… You have dried the marrow from the…
SADDLE and ride, I heard a man… Out of Ben Bulben and Knocknarea… i{What says the Clock in the Grea… All those tragic characters ride But turn from Rosses’ crawling ti…
‘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
