#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
That crazed girl improvising her music. Her poetry, dancing upon the shore, Her soul in division from itself Climbing, falling She knew not where, Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
I, THE poet William Yeats, With old mill boards and sea-green slate… And smithy work from the Gort forge, Restored this tower for my wife George; And may these characters remain
While I, that reed-throated whisperer Who comes at need, although not now as o… A clear articulation in the air, But inwardly, surmise companions Beyond the fling of the dull ass’s hoof
SAY that the men of the old black tower… Though they but feed as the goatherd fee… Their money spent, their wine gone sour, Lack nothing that a soldier needs, That all are oath-bound men:
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,
#1899 #Ballad #TheWindAmongTheReeds
THE old brown thorn-trees break in two… Under a bitter black wind that blows fro… Our courage breaks like an old tree in a… But we have hidden in our hearts the fla… Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan.
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,
Bolt and bar the shutter, For the foul winds blow: Our minds are at their best this night, And I seem to know That everything outside us is
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
Swear by what the sages spoke Round the Mareotic Lake That the Witch of Atlas knew, Spoke and set the cocks a-crow. Swear by those horsemen, by those women
Under the Great Comedian’s tomb the cro… A bundle of tempestuous cloud is blown About the sky; where that is clear of cl… Brightness remains; a brighter star shoo… What shudders run through all that anima…
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,
‘She will change,’ I cried. ‘Into a withered crone.’ The heart in my side, That so still had lain, In noble rage replied
I’LL say and maybe dream I have drawn… Seeing that time has frozen up the blood… The wick of youth being burned and the o… From beauty that is cast out of a mould In bronze, or that in dazzling marble ap…
COME play with me; Why should you run Through the shaking tree As though I’d a gun To strike you dead?