#IrishWriters #Victorian
OFT have we trod the vales of Ca… And heard sweet notes of sylvan mu… From antique reeds to common folk… And often launched our bark upon t… Which the nine Muses hold in empe…
To outer senses there is peace, A dreamy peace on either hand Deep silence in the shadowy land, Deep silence where the shadows cea… Save for a cry that echoes shrill
With a Copy of My Poems I can write no stately proem As a prelude to my lay; From a poet to a poem I would dare to say.
THE Thames nocturne of blue and… Changed to a Harmony in grey: A barge with ochre—coloured hay Dropt from the wharf: and chill an… The yellow fog came creeping down
The silver trumpets rang across th… The people knelt upon the ground w… And borne upon the necks of men I… Like some great God, the Holy Lo… Priest—like, he wore a robe more w…
I reached the Alps: the soul with… Italia, my Italia, at thy name: And when from out the mountain’s h… And saw the land for which my life… I laughed as one who some great pr…
ROME! what a scroll of History t… In the first days thy sword republ… Ruled the whole world for many an… Then of thy peoples thou wert crow… Till in thy streets the bearded G…
(To Sarah Bernhardt) How vain and dull this common worl… To such a One as thou, who should… At Florence with Mirandola, or wa… Through the cool olives of the Ac…
Against these turbid turquoise ski… The light and luminous balloons Dip and drift like satin moons Drift like silken butterflies; Reel with every windy gust,
NOT that I love thy children, wh… See nothing save their own unlovel… Whose minds know nothing, nothing… But that the roar of thy Democrac… Thy reigns of Terror, thy great A…
We caught the tread of dancing fee… We loitered down the moonlit stree… And stopped beneath the harlot’s h… Inside, above the din and fray, We heard the loud musicians play
SET in this stormy Northern sea, Queen of these restless fields of… England! what shall men say of the… Before whose feet the worlds divid… The earth, a brittle globe of glas…
A white mist drifts across the shr… A wild moon in this wintry sky Gleams like an angry lion’s eye Out of a mane of tawny clouds. The muffled steersman at the wheel
O goat—foot God of Arcady! This modern world is grey and old, And what remains to us of thee? No more the shepherd lads in glee Throw apples at thy wattled fold,
ALBEIT nurtured in democracy, And liking best that state republi… Where every man is Kinglike and n… Is crowned above his fellows, yet… Spite of this modern fret for Lib…