#1910 #IrishWriters #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
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…
THERE is grey in your hair. Young men no longer suddenly catch… When you are passing; But maybe some old gaffer mutters… Because it was your prayer
‘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.’
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
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
While I, that reed-throated whisp… Who comes at need, although not no… A clear articulation in the air, But inwardly, surmise companions Beyond the fling of the dull ass’s…
THIS night has been so strange t… As if the hair stood up on my head… From going-down of the sun I have… That women laughing, or timid or w… In rustle of lace or silken stuff,
I have met them at close of day Coming with vivid faces From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. I have passed with a nod of the he…
‘TIME to put off the world and g… And find my health again in the se… Beggar to beggar cried, being fren… ‘And make my soul before my pate i… ’And get a comfortable wife and ho…
A MAN that had six mortal wounds… Violent and famous, strode among t… Eyes stared out of the branches an… Then certain Shrouds that muttere… Came and were gone. He leant upo…
My Paistin Finn is my sole desire… And I am shrunken to skin and bon… For all my heart has had for its h… Is what I can whistle alone and a… Oro, oro.!
AN old man cocked his ear upon a… He and his friend, their faces to… Had trod the uneven road. Their b… Their Connemara cloth worn out of… They had kept a steady pace as tho…
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…
Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kis…
ALL the words that I utter, And all the words that I write, Must spread out their wings untiri… And never rest in their flight, Till they come where your sad, sad…