#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
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…
KNOW, that I would accounted be True brother of a company That sang, to sweeten Ireland’s wrong, Ballad and story, rann and song; Nor be I any less of them,
Once, when midnight smote the air, Eunuchs ran through Hell and met On every crowded street to stare Upon great Juan riding by: Even like these to rail and sweat
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
#1910 #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
Violence upon the roads: violence of ho… Some few have handsome riders, are garla… On delicate sensitive ear or tossing man… But wearied running round and round in t… All break and vanish, and evil gathers h…
I hear the Shadowy Horses, their long m… Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eye… The North unfolds above them clinging,… The East her hidden joy before the morn… The West weeps in pale dew and sighs pa…
#1899 #TheWindAmongTheReeds
Be you still, be you still, trembling he… Remember the wisdom out of the old days: Him who trembles before the flame and th… And the winds that blow through the star… Let the starry winds and the flame and t…
We sat together at one summer’s end, That beautiful mild woman, your close fr… And you and I, and talked of poetry. I said, ‘A line will take us hours mayb… Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thoug…
#ArsPoetica
POETRY, music, I have loved, and yet Because of those new dead That come into my soul and escape Confusion of the bed, Or those begotten or unbegotten
A storm beaten old watch-tower, A blind hermit rings the hour. All-destroying sword-blade still Carried by the wandering fool. Gold-sewn silk on the sword-blade,
#1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
Laughter not time destroyed my voice And put that crack in it, And when the moon’s pot-bellied I get a laughing fit, For that old Madge comes down the lane,
#1928 #TheTower
‘CALL down the hawk from the air; Let him be hooded or caged Till the yellow eye has grown mild, For larder and spit are bare, The old cook enraged,
A DOLL in the doll-maker’s house Looks at the cradle and bawls: ‘That is an insult to us.’ But the oldest of all the dolls, Who had seen, being kept for show,
A Dramatic Poem The deck of an ancient ship. At the ri… with a large square sail hiding a great… on that side. The tiller is at the left… coming through an opening in the bulwark…
Behold that great Plotinus swim, Buffeted by such seas; Bland Rhadamanthus beckons him, But the Golden Race looks dim, Salt blood blocks his eyes.
