The Wild Swans at Coole. 1919.
#Irish #NobelPrize
‘Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone
THEY must to keep their certaint… All that are different of a base i… Pull down established honour; hawk… Whatever their loose fantasy inven… And murmur it with bated breath, a…
KNOW, that I would accounted be True brother of a company That sang, to sweeten Ireland’s w… Ballad and story, rann and song; Nor be I any less of them,
IF Michael, leader of God’s host When Heaven and Hell are met, Looked down on you from Heaven’s… He would his deeds forget. Brooding no more upon God’s wars
Turning and turning in the widenin… The falcon cannot hear the falcone… Things fall apart; the centre cann… Mere anarchy is loosed upon the wo… The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, a…
Kusta Ben Luka is my name, I wri… To Abd Al-Rabban; fellow-royster… Now the good Caliph’s learned Tre… And for no ear but his. Carry this letter
I walked among the seven woods of… Shan-walla, where a willow-hordere… Gathers the wild duck from the win… Shady Kyle-dortha; sunnier Kyle-n… Where many hundred squirrels are a…
WHAT’S riches to him That has made a great peacock With the pride of his eye? The wind-beaten, stone-grey, And desolate Three Rock
Be you still, be you still, trembl… Remember the wisdom out of the old… Him who trembles before the flame… And the winds that blow through th… Let the starry winds and the flame…
KING EOCHAID came at sundown… Westward of Tara. Hurrying to hi… He had outridden his war-wasted me… That with empounded cattle trod th… And where beech-trees had mixed a…
A moonlight moor. Fairies lead… Male Fairies: Do not fear us, ear… We will lead you hand in hand By the willows in the glade, By the gorse on the high land,
Bring me to the blasted oak That I, midnight upon the stroke, (All find safety in the tomb.) May call down curses on his head Because of my dear Jack that’s de…
I know, although when looks meet I tremble to the bone, The more I leave the door unlatch… The sooner love is gone, For love is but a skein unwound
Shepherd. That cry’s from the fir… I wished before it ceased. Goatherd. Nor bird n… Could make me wish for anything th… Being old, but that the old alone…
ON the grey rock of Cashel the mi… Has called up the cold spirits tha… When the old moon is vanished from… And the new still hides her horn. Under blank eyes and fingers never…