#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury #1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
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,
#1910 #RhymedStanza #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
Come round me, little childer; There, don’t fling stones at me Because I mutter as I go; But pity Moll Magee. My man was a poor fisher
#1889 #TheWanderingsOfOisinAndOtherPoems
Be you still, be you still, trembling he… Remember the wisdom out of the old days: Him who trembles before the flame and th… And the winds that blow through the star… Let the starry winds and the flame and t…
#1899 #TheWindAmongTheReeds
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
I, proclaiming that there is Among birds or beasts or men One that is perfect or at peace. Danced on Cruachan’s windy plain, Upon Cro-patrick sang aloud;
Under my window-ledge the waters race, Otters below and moor-hens on the top, Run for a mile undimmed in Heaven’s fac… Then darkening through 'dark’ Raftery’s… Run underground, rise in a rocky place
#1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
From pleasure of the bed, Dull as a worm, His rod and its butting head Limp as a worm, His spirit that has fled
“Would it were anything but merely voice… The No King cried who after that was K… Because he had not heard of anything That balanced with a word is more than n… Yet Old Romance being kind, let him pre…
#1910 #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
We who are old, old and gay, O so old! Thousands of years, thousands of years, If all were told: Give to these children, new from the wor…
III Slim adolescence that a nymph has stripp… Peleus on Thetis stares. Her limbs are delicate as an eyelid, Love has blinded him with tears;
Where had her sweetness gone? What fanatics invent In this blind bitter town, Fantasy or incident Not worth thinking of,
The island dreams under the dawn And great boughs drop tranquillity; The peahens dance on a smooth lawn, A parrot sways upon a tree, Raging at his own image in the enamelled…
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
NOW all the truth is out, Be secret and take defeat From any brazen throat, For how can you compete, Being honour bred, with one
Three Voices [together]. Hurry to bless… The mouths that speak, the notes and str… O masters of the glittering town! O! lay the shrilly trumpet down, Though drunken with the flags that sway
