#Irish #Women
Dance, little children... it is ho… Have you hung paper flowers about… Dance soft . . . but very gaily...… Spread your little pinafores And courtesy as the snow does . .…
Out of fiery contacts ... Rushing auras of steel Touching and whirled apart ... Out of the charged phallases Of iron leaping
The earth is motionless And poised in space .... A great bird resting in its flight Between the alleys of the stars. It is the wind’s hour off ....
Pythoness body—arching Over the night like an ecstasy— I feel your coils tightening... And the world’s lessening breath.
Where to-day would a dainty buyer Imbibe your scented juice, Pale ruin with a heart of fire; Drain your succulence with her lip… Grown sapless from much use…
A late snow beats With cold white fists upon the ten… Hurriedly drawing blinds and shutt… Like tall old slatterns Pulling aprons about their heads.
I love you, malcontent Male wind— Shaking the pollen from a flower Or hurling the sea backward from t… Blow on and over my dreams...
Nasal intonations of light and clicking tongues... publicity of windows stoning me with pent-up cries... smells of abattoirs...
Skyscrapers... remote, unpartisan.… Turning neither to the right nor l… Your imperturbable fronts.... Austerely greeting the sun With one chilly finger of stone...…
Tender and tremulous green of leav… Turned up by the wind, Twanging among the vines - Wind in the grass Blowing a clear path
I have known only my own shallows… Safe, plumbed places, Where I was wont to preen myself. But for the abyss I wanted a plank beneath
Your love was like moonlight turning harsh things to beauty, so that little wry souls reflecting each other obliquely as in cracked mirrors’¦ beheld in your luminous spirit their own r...
I THOUGHT to die that night in… But there was time ... And I lay quietly on the drawn kn… I do not know how long ... I could not count the hours, they…
Will you feast with me, American… But what have I that shall seem g… On my board are bitter apples And honey served on thorns, And in my flagons fluid iron,
I love those spirits That men stand off and point at, Or shudder and hood up their souls… Those ruined ones, Where Liberty has lodged an hour