#Irish #NobelPrize #1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
BELOVED, gaze in thine own hear… The holy tree is growing there; From joy the holy branches start, And all the trembling flowers they… The changing colours of its fruit
O THOUGHT, fly to her when the… Awakens an old memory, and say, ‘Your strength, that is so lofty a… It might call up a new age, callin… The queens that were imagined long…
Autumn is over the long leaves tha… And over the mice in the barley sh… Yellow the leaves of the rowan abo… And yellow the wet wild-strawberry… The hour of the waning of love has…
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,
A BLOODY and a sudden end, Gunshot or a noose, For Death who takes what man woul… Leaves what man would lose. He might have had my sister,
Fasten your hair with a golden pin… 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
The jester walked in the garden: The garden had fallen still; He bade his soul rise upward And stand on her window—sill. It rose in a straight blue garment…
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…
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,
IF Michael, leader of God’s host When Heaven and Hell are met, Looked down on you from Heaven’s… He would his deeds forget. Brooding no more upon God’s wars
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.
‘Lay me in a cushioned chair; Carry me, ye four, With cushions here and cushions th… To see the world once more. ’To stable and to kennel go;
I– CRAZY JANE AND THE B… Bring me to the blasted oak That I, midnight upon the stroke, (All find safety in the tomb.) May call down curses on his head
Bolt and bar the shutter, For the foul winds blow: Our minds are at their best this n… And I seem to know That everything outside us is
Your hooves have stamped at the bl… Even where horrible green parrots… My works are all stamped down into… I knew that horse-play, knew it fo… What wholesome sun has ripened is…
