#Irish #NobelPrize
A CURSING rogue with a merry f… A bundle of rags upon a crutch, Stumbled upon that windy place Called Cruachan, and it was as mu… As the one sturdy leg could do
THREE old hermits took the air By a cold and desolate sea, First was muttering a prayer, Second rummaged for a flea; On a windy stone, the third,
THE girl goes dancing there On the leaf-sown, new-mown, smooth Grass plot of the garden; Escaped from bitter youth, Escaped out of her crowd,
The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed; Grey Truth is now her painted toy… Yet still she turns her restless h…
The light of evening, Lissadell, Great windows open to the south, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. But a raving autumn shears
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose o… Come near me, while I sing the an… Cuchulain battling with the bitter… The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, q… Who cast round Fergus dreams, and…
I went out alone To sing a song or two, My fancy on a man, And you know who. Another came in sight
The Danaan children laugh, in cra… And clap their hands together, and… For they will ride the North when… With heavy whitening wings, and a… I kiss my wailing child and press…
A sudden blow: the great wings bea… Above the staggering girl, her thi… By the dark webs, her nape caught… He holds her helpless breast upon… How can those terrified vague fing…
HIS DREAM I SWAYED upon the gaudy stem The butt-end of a steering-oar, And saw wherever I could turn A crowd upon a shore.
The deck of an ancient ship. At the right of the stage is the mast, with a large square sail hiding a great deal of the sky and sea on that side. The tiller is at the left of the stag...
I found that ivory image there Dancing with her chosen youth, But when he wound her coal-black h… As though to strangle her, no scre… Or bodily movement did I dare,
i{"Though to my feathers in the we… i{I have stood here from break of… i{I have not found a thing to eat,… i{For only rubbish comes my way.} i{Am I to live on lebeen-lone?'}
Things out of perfection sail, And all their swelling canvas wear… Nor shall the self-begotten fail Though fantastic men suppose Building-yard and stormy shore,
PICTURE and book remain, An acre of green grass For air and exercise, Now strength of body goes; Midnight, an old house
