THE old brown thorn-trees break i… Under a bitter black wind that blo… Our courage breaks like an old tre… But we have hidden in our hearts t… Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houl…

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

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…

WHEN all works that have From cradle run to grave From grave to cradle run instead; When thoughts that a fool Has wound upon a spool

‘I am of Ireland, And the Holy Land of Ireland, And time runs on,’ cried she. ‘Come out of charity, Come dance with me in Ireland.’

HANDS, do what you’re bid; Bring the balloon of the mind That bellies and drags in the wind Into its narrow shed.

A man came slowly from the setting… To Emer, raddling raiment in her… And said, “I am that swineherd wh… Go watch the road between the wood… But now I have no need to watch i…

SHE might, so noble from head To great shapely knees The long flowing line, Have walked to the altar Through the holy images

HERE is fresh matter, poet, Matter for old age meet; Might of the Church and the State… Their mobs put under their feet. O but heart’s wine shall run pure,

WHAT if I bade you leave The cavern of the mind? There’s better exercise In the sunlight and wind. I never bade you go