#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
WHEN all works that have From cradle run to grave From grave to cradle run instead; When thoughts that a fool Has wound upon a spool
I met the Bishop on the road And much said he and I. ‘Those breasts are flat and fallen now, Those veins must soon be dry; Live in a heavenly mansion,
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,
#1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
What lively lad most pleasured me Of all that with me lay? I answer that I gave my soul And loved in misery, But had great pleasure with a lad
Your hooves have stamped at the black ma… Even where horrible green parrots call a… My works are all stamped down into the s… I knew that horse-play, knew it for a mu… What wholesome sun has ripened is wholes…
#1928 #TheTower
The fascination of what’s difficult Has dried the sap out of my veins, and r… Spontaneous joy and natural content Out of my heart. There’s something ails… That must, as if it had not holy blood
#1910 #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems
THEY must to keep their certainty accu… All that are different of a base intent; Pull down established honour; hawk for n… Whatever their loose fantasy invent And murmur it with bated breath, as thou…
Three Voices [together]. Hurry to bless… The mouths that speak, the notes and str… O masters of the glittering town! O! lay the shrilly trumpet down, Though drunken with the flags that sway
THERE all the golden codgers lay, There the silver dew, And the great water sighed for love, And the wind sighed too. Man-picker Niamh leant and sighed
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
While I, that reed-throated whisperer Who comes at need, although not now as o… A clear articulation in the air, But inwardly, surmise companions Beyond the fling of the dull ass’s hoof
‘Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone
Between extremities Man runs his course; A brand, or flaming breath. Comes to destroy All those antinomies
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your fee…
Beloved, may your sleep be sound That have found it where you fed. What were all the world’s alarms To mighty paris when he found Sleep upon a golden bed