#IrishWriters #NobelPrize
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
YOU think it horrible that lust a… Should dance attention upon my old… They were not such a plague when… What else have I to spur me into…
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
Sang old Tom the lunatic That sleeps under the canopy: ‘What change has put my thoughts a… And eyes that had so keen a sight? What has turned to smoking wick
Pardon, old fathers, if you still… Somewhere in ear-shot for the stor… Old Dublin merchant “free of the… Or trading out of Galway into Spa… Old country scholar, Robert Emmet…
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…
I have drunk ale from the Country… And weep because I know all thing… I have been a hazel-tree, and they… The Pilot Star and the Crooked P… Among my leaves in times out of mi…
HERE at right of the entrance th… Human, superhuman, a bird’s round… Everything else withered and mummy… What great tomb-haunter sweeps the… (Something may linger there though…
‘THOUGH logic-choppers rule the… And every man and maid and boy Has marked a distant object down, An aimless joy is a pure joy,’ Or so did Tom O’Roughley say
'Love is all Unsatisfied That cannot take the whole Body and soul’; And that is what Jane said.
There where the course is, Delight makes all of the one mind, The riders upon the galloping hors… The crowd that closes in behind: We, too, had good attendance once,
Things out of perfection sail, And all their swelling canvas wear… Nor shall the self-begotten fail Though fantastic men suppose Building-yard and stormy shore,
Though you are in your shining day… Voices among the crowd And new friends busy with your pra… Be not unkind or proud, But think about old friends the mo…
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 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,