The Wild Swans at Coole. 1919.
#Irish #NobelPrize
SAID lady once to lover, ‘None can rely upon A love that lacks its proper food; And if your love were gone How could you sing those songs of…
I’LL say and maybe dream I have… Seeing that time has frozen up the… The wick of youth being burned and… From beauty that is cast out of a… In bronze, or that in dazzling mar…
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
If you, that have grown old, were… Neither catalpa tree nor scented l… Should hear my living feet, nor wo… Where we wrought that shall break… Let the new faces play what tricks…
I have drunk ale from the Country… And weep because I know all thing… I have been a hazel-tree, and they… The Pilot Star and the Crooked P… Among my leaves in times out of mi…
MY dear, my dear, I know More than another What makes your heart beat so; Not even your own mother Can know it as I know,
Where had her sweetness gone? What fanatics invent In this blind bitter town, Fantasy or incident Not worth thinking of,
O THOUGHT, fly to her when the… Awakens an old memory, and say, ‘Your strength, that is so lofty a… It might call up a new age, callin… The queens that were imagined long…
Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.
Dear Craoibhin Aoibhin, look into… When we are high and airy hundreds… That if we hold that flight they’l… While those same hundreds mock ano… Because we have made our art of co…
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…
If any man drew near When I was young, I thought, ‘He holds her dear,’ And shook with hate and fear. But O! ‘twas bitter wrong
Violence upon the roads: violence… Some few have handsome riders, are… On delicate sensitive ear or tossi… But wearied running round and roun… All break and vanish, and evil gat…
Crazed through much child-bearing The moon is staggering in the sky; Moon-struck by the despairing Glances of her wandering eye We grope, and grope in vain,
FOR one throb of the artery, While on that old grey stone I Sa… Under the old wind-broken tree, I knew that One is animate, Mankind inanimate fantasy’.