#Irish #XIXCentury
HE is coming! he is coming! in my… There is music in my blood, and it… That my love unknown comes toward… For I cannot hide the secret that… O the sweet bursting flowers! how…
TEAR down the crape from the col… Be silent the wailing music—there… We come not in plaint or sorrow—no… We dare not weep o’er the epitaph… Come hither with glowing faces, th…
DEAD, with his harness on him: Rigid and cold and white, Marking the place of the vanguard Still in the ancient fight. The climber dead on the hill-side,
“AND Smith has made money?” “O, no; that’s a myth: Smith never made money But money made Smith!” A sculptor is Deming—a great man,…
“COME to me for wisdom,' said th… In the valley and the plain There is Knowledge dimmed with so… There is Effort, with its hope li… There, the chained rebel, Passion…
A SOFT-BREASTED bird from th… Fell in love with the light-house… And it wheeled round the tower on… And floated and cried like a lovel… It brooded all day and it fluttere…
Oh! no! I would not love again E’en had I still the power given; I would not risk its pain and fear… E’en though its joys were taste of… A breath may blight the heart we p…
THE world was made when a man was… He must taste for himself the forb… He can never take warning from old… He must fight as a boy, he must dr… He must kiss, he must love, he mus…
The Infinite always is silent: It is only the Finite speaks. Our words are the idle wave-caps On the deep that never breaks. We may question with wand of scien…
ONLY a fallen horse, stretched o… Stretched in the broken shafts, an… Only a fallen horse, and a circle… Watching the 'frighted teamster go… Hold! for his toil is over—no more…
NOT on the word alone Let love depend; Neither by actions done Choose ye the friend. Let the slow years fly—
Poets should not reason: Let them sing! Argument is treason— Bells should ring. Statements none, nor questions;
IIN the evergreen shade of an Au… Where the long branches laced abov… Through which all day it seemed The sweet sunbeams down-gleamed Like the rays of a young mother’s…
‘HOW shall I a habit break?’ As you did that habit make. As you gathered, you must lose; As you yielded, now refuse. Thread by thread the strands we tw…
I am tired of planning and toiling In the crowded hives of men; Heart-weary of building and spoili… And spoiling and building again. And I long for the dear old river…
