#Irish #Women
That day, in the slipping of torso… on the bloodied ooze of fields plo… And the smoke bluish near earth an… floating like cotton-down, And the harsh and terrible screami…
Snow wraiths circle us Like washers of the dead, Flapping their white wet cloths Impatiently About the grizzled head,
(Easter 1916) Censored lies that mimic truth’¦ Censored truth as pale as fear’¦ My heart is like a rousing bell - And but the dead to hear’¦
We are old, Old as song. Before Rome was Or Cyrene. Mad nights knew us
Spires of Grace Church, For you the workers of the world Travailed with the mountains’¦ Aborting their own dreams Till the dream of you arose -
When Art goes bounding, lean, Up hill-tops fired green To pluck a rose for life. Life like a broody hen Cluck-clucks him back again.
Cherry, cherry, glowing on the hearth, bright red cherry... When you try to pick up cherry Celia’s shriek
Life You have been good to me... You have not made yourself too dea… to juggle with.
Drab discoloration Of faces, façades, pawn-shops, Second-hand clothing, Smoky and fly-blown glass of lunch… Odors of rancid life’¦
The soldiers lie upon the snow, That no longer gyrates under the s… Night juggles in her fat black han… They will not babble any more secr… nights
Do you remember Honey-melon moon Dripping thick sweet light Where Canal Street saunters off b… And the faint decayed patchouli—
A spring wind on the Bowery, Blowing the fluff of night shelter… Off bedraggled garments, And agitating the gutters, that ej… Like lewd growths.
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.
TIME-STONE Hallo, Metropolitan’ Ubiquitous windows staring all way… Red eye notching the darkness. No use to ogle that slip of a moon…
Out of the night you burn, Manhat… In a vesture of gold— Span of innumerable arcs, Flaring and multiplying— Gold at the uttermost circles fadi…