#IrishWriters
Behold that great Plotinus swim, Buffeted by such seas; Bland Rhadamanthus beckons him, But the Golden Race looks dim, Salt blood blocks his eyes.
Though leaves are many, the root i… Through all the lying days of my y… I swayed my leaves and flowers in… Now I may wither into the truth.
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…
A BLOODY and a sudden end, Gunshot or a noose, For Death who takes what man woul… Leaves what man would lose. He might have had my sister,
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…
WHO dreamed that beauty passes li… For these red lips, with all their… Mournful that no new wonder may be… Troy passed away in one high funer… And Usna’s children died.
THERE is a queen in China, or m… And birthdays and holidays such pr… Of her unblemished lineaments, a w… That she might be that sprightly g… And there’s a score of duchesses,…
That is no country for old men. T… In one another’s arms, birds in th… —Those dying generations—at their… The salmon—falls, the mackerel—cro… Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all…
He. Dear, I must be gone While night Shuts the eyes Of the household spies; That song announces dawn. She. No, night’s bird and love’s
WE sat together at one summer’s e… That beautiful mild woman, your cl… And you and I, and talked of poet… I said, 'A line will take us hour… Yet if it does not seem a moment’s…
Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.
Although you hide in the ebb and f… Of the pale tide when the moon has… The people of coming days will kno… About the casting out of my net, And how you have leaped times out…
HANDS, do what you’re bid; Bring the balloon of the mind That bellies and drags in the wind Into its narrow shed.
I sought a theme and sought for it… I sought it daily for six weeks or… Maybe at last, being but a broken… I must be satisfied with my heart,… Winter and summer till old age beg…
O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed… The poets labouring all their days To build a perfect beauty in rhyme Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze And by the unlabouring brood of th…