#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Between extremities Man runs his course; A brand, or flaming breath. Comes to destroy All those antinomies
#1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
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
O heart, be at peace, because Nor knave nor dolt can break What’s not for their applause, Being for a woman’s sake. Enough if the work has seemed,
#1910 #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
Ah, but Time has touched 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
SWEETHEART, do not love too long: I loved long and long, And grew to be out of fashion Like an old song. All through the years of our youth
Who will go drive with Fergus now, And pierce the deep wood’s woven shade, And dance upon the level shore? Young man, lift up your russet brow, And lift your tender eyelids, maid,
SAY that the men of the old black tower… Though they but feed as the goatherd fee… Their money spent, their wine gone sour, Lack nothing that a soldier needs, That all are oath-bound men:
O THOUGHT, fly to her when the end o… Awakens an old memory, and say, ‘Your strength, that is so lofty and fie… It might call up a new age, calling to m… The queens that were imagined long ago,
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
Nor dread nor hope attend A dying animal; A man awaits his end Dreading and hoping all; Many times he died,
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
My Paistin Finn is my sole desire, And I am shrunken to skin and bone, For all my heart has had for its hire Is what I can whistle alone and alone. Oro, oro.!
A MAN that had six mortal wounds, a ma… Violent and famous, strode among the dea… Eyes stared out of the branches and were… Then certain Shrouds that muttered head… Came and were gone. He leant upon a tr…
‘O cruel Death, give three things back,… Sang a bone upon the shore; ‘A child found all a child can lack, Whether of pleasure or of rest, Upon the abundance of my breast’:
Laughter not time destroyed my voice 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 lane,
#1928 #TheTower
