#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
ROSE of all Roses, Rose of all… The tall thought-woven sails, that… Above the tide of hours, trouble t… And God’s bell buoyed to be the w… While hushed from fear, or loud wi…
Between extremities Man runs his course; A brand, or flaming breath. Comes to destroy All those antinomies
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…
I walk through the long schoolroom… A kind old nun in a white hood rep… The children learn to cipher and t… To study reading-books and histori… To cut and sew, be neat in everyth…
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…
(Song from an Unfinished Play) My mother dandled me and sang, ‘How young it is, how young!’ And made a golden cradle That on a willow swung.
That civilisation may not sink, Its great battle lost, Quiet the dog, tether the pony To a distant post; Our master Caesar is in the tent
YOU gave, but will not give again Until enough of paudeen’s pence By Biddy’s halfpennies have lain To be 'some sort of evidence’, Before you’ll put your guineas dow…
O but there is wisdom In what the sages said; But stretch that body for a while And lay down that head Till I have told the sages
LOCKE sank into a swoon; The Garden died; God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side. Where got I that truth?
‘O WORDS are lightly spoken,’ Said Pearse to Connolly, ‘Maybe a breath of politic words Has withered our Rose Tree; Or maybe but a wind that blows
The First. My great-grandfather s… In Grattan’s house. The Second. My great-grandfather… A pot-house bench with Oliver Gol… The Third. My great-grandfather’s…
BEAUTIFUL lofty things: O’Le… My father upon the Abbey stage, b… ‘This Land of Saints,’ and then a… 'Of plaster Saints’; his beautifu… Standish O’Grady supporting himse…
I DREAMED that one had died in… Near no accustomed hand, And they had nailed the boards abo… The peasants of that land, Wondering to lay her in that solit…
Although crowds gathered once if s… And even old men’s eyes grew dim,… Like some last courtier at a gypsy… Babbling of fallen majesty, record… The lineaments, a heart that laugh…