#IrishWriters #NobelPrize #1928 #TheTower
The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed; Grey Truth is now her painted toy… Yet still she turns her restless h…
It is now more than ten years since I met, for the last time, Michael Robartes, and for the first time and the last time his friends and fellow students; and witnessed his and their tra...
Who talks of Plato’s spindle; What set it whirling round? Eternity may dwindle, Time is unwound, Dan and Jerry Lout
SELECTED FROM THE IR… THERE was a green branch hung wi… When her own people ruled this tra… And from its murmuring greenness,… A Druid kindness, on all hearers…
POUR wine and dance if manhood s… Bring roses if the rose be yet in… The cataract smokes upon the mount… Our Father Rosicross is in his to… Pull down the blinds, bring fiddle…
I– CRAZY JANE AND THE B… Bring me to the blasted oak That I, midnight upon the stroke, (All find safety in the tomb.) May call down curses on his head
Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That’s all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth,
Whence did all that fury come? From empty tomb or Virgin womb? Saint Joseph thought the world wo… But liked the way his finger smelt…
I FASTED for some forty days on… For passing round the bottle with… In country shawl or Paris cloak,… And what’s the good of women, for… Is fol de rol de rolly O.
When I play on my fiddle in Doone… Folk dance like a wave of the sea; My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet, My brother in Mocharabuiee. I passed my brother and cousin:
WHAT if I bade you leave The cavern of the mind? There’s better exercise In the sunlight and wind. I never bade you go
HIS DREAM I SWAYED upon the gaudy stem The butt-end of a steering-oar, And saw wherever I could turn A crowd upon a shore.
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…
BEAUTIFUL lofty things: O’Le… My father upon the Abbey stage, b… ‘This Land of Saints,’ and then a… 'Of plaster Saints’; his beautifu… Standish O’Grady supporting himse…
THERE is grey in your hair. Young men no longer suddenly catch… When you are passing; But maybe some old gaffer mutters… Because it was your prayer
