#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Edain came out of Midhir’s hill,… Beside young Aengus in his tower… Where time is drowned in odour-lad… And Druid moons, and murmuring of… And sleepy boughs, and boughs wher…
‘ALTHOUGH I’d lie lapped up in… A deal I’d sweat and little earn If I should live as live the neig… Cried the beggar, Billy Byrne; ‘Stretch bones till the daylight c…
YOU ask what—I have found, and f… Nothing but Cromwell’s house and… The lovers and the dancers are bea… And the tall men and the swordsmen… And there is an old beggar wanderi…
I, THE poet William Yeats, With old mill boards and sea-green… And smithy work from the Gort for… Restored this tower for my wife G… And may these characters remain
Under my window-ledge the waters r… Otters below and moor-hens on the… Run for a mile undimmed in Heaven… Then darkening through 'dark’ Raf… Run underground, rise in a rocky p…
My Soul. I summon to the winding… Set all your mind upon the steep a… Upon the broken, crumbling battlem… Upon the breathless starlit air, Upon the star that marks the hidde…
WHY should not old men be mad? Some have known a likely lad That had a sound fly-fisher’s wris… Turn to a drunken journalist; A girl that knew all Dante once
Come let us mock at the great That had such burdens on the mind And toiled so hard and late To leave some monument behind, Nor thought of the levelling wind.
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’.
I AM worn out with dreams; A weather-worn, marble triton Among the streams; And all day long I look Upon this lady’s beauty
Shakespearean fish swam the sea, f… Romantic fish swam in nets coming… What are all those fish that lie g…
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…
Good Father John O’Hart In penal days rode out To a Shoneen who had free lands And his own snipe and trout. In trust took he John’s lands;
ONE had a lovely face, And two or three had charm, But charm and face were in vain Because the mountain grass Cannot but keep the form
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,
