#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
A crazy man that found a cup, When all but dead of thirst, Hardly dared to wet his mouth Imagining, moon-accursed, That another mouthful
#1928 #TheTower
‘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.’
HERE at right of the entrance this bro… Human, superhuman, a bird’s round eye, Everything else withered and mummy-dead. What great tomb-haunter sweeps the dista… (Something may linger there though all e…
I whispered, “I am too young,” And then, “I am old enough”; Wherefore I threw a penny To find out if I might love. “Go and love, go and love, young man,
#1910 #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
Hidden by old age awhile In masker’s cloak and hood, Each hating what the other loved, Face to face we stood: ‘That I have met with such,’ said he,
Swayed upon the gaudy stern The butt-end of a steering-oar, And saw wherever I could turn A crown upon the shore. I And though I would have hushed the cr…
SADDLE and ride, I heard a man say, Out of Ben Bulben and Knocknarea, i{What says the Clock in the Great Clo… All those tragic characters ride But turn from Rosses’ crawling tide,
There was a man whom Sorrow named his F… And he, of his high comrade Sorrow drea… Went walking with slow steps along the g… And humming Sands, where windy surges w… And he called loudly to the stars to ben…
#1889 #TheWanderingsOfOisinAndOtherPoems
ON the grey rock of Cashel the mind’s e… Has called up the cold spirits that are… When the old moon is vanished from the s… And the new still hides her horn. Under blank eyes and fingers never still
HOPE that you may understand! What can books of men that wive In a dragon-guarded land, paintings of the dolphin-drawn Sea-nymphs in their pearly wagons
Fasten your hair with a golden pin, And bind up every wandering tress; I bade my heart build these poor rhymes: It worked at them, day out, day in, Building a sorrowful loveliness
#1899 #TheWindAmongTheReeds
WHAT woman hugs her infant there? Another star has shot an ear. What made the drapery glisten so? Not a man but Delacroix. What made the ceiling waterproof?
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…
I found that ivory image there Dancing with her chosen youth, But when he wound her coal-black hair As though to strangle her, no scream Or bodily movement did I dare,
FOR one throb of the artery, While on that old grey stone I Sat Under the old wind-broken tree, I knew that One is animate, Mankind inanimate fantasy’.