#Irish
THE candles lighted and the figur… Announce this to you: they are lai… The noble, whimsical and pathetic… Disanimated, not to be resumed! And still the knocks, the three, t…
THE Plovers fly and cry around, Unguided, nestless, without bourn, Wandering and impetuous, Turning and flying to return. These wild birds seen on Ireland’…
How strangely like a churchyard sk… The thing that’s there amongst the… A Hornets’ nest; but stir the bra… And they’ll be round your head and… So wary ana so weaponed,
I’LL be an otter, and I’ll let y… A mate beside me; we will venture… A deep, full river when the sky ab… Is shut of the sun; spoilers are w… Thick-coated; no dog’s tooth can b…
THE little moths are creeping Across the cottage pane; On the floor the chickens gather, And they make talk and complain. And she sits by the fire
You had the prose of logic and of… And words to sledge an iron argume… And yet you could draw down the ou… To perch beside the ravens of your… The dreams whereby a people challe…
On and on, O white brother! Thunder does not daunt thee! How thou movest! By thine impulse
You would not slumber If laid at my breast: You would not slumber. The river-flood beats The swan from her nest:
OTHERS have divers paints and e… Lavish and bright on breast and wi… You, Guatemalan, have sunken all… Into glory of greenness! There may be palms as greenly resp…
CAN it be that never more Men will grow on Islands? Ithaka and Eriskey, Iceland and Tahiti! Must the engines he has forged
I THINK some saint of Eirinn wa… Found you and brought you here De… For so I greet you in this alien… And like those maidens who were on… In their own land as daughters of…
WRITTEN TO THE LONDON… ‘Tira autumn sun your shadow’s flu… Upon the field where now your reap… Lo, there! And lo! Your reaper’s… Is on your forehead like a kingly…
I HEARD in the night the pigeon… Stirring within their nest: The wild pigeons’ stir was tender, Like a child’s hand at the breast. I cried 'O stir no more!
O woman, shapely as the swan, On your account I shall not die: The men you’ve slain—a trivial cla… Were less than I. I ask me shall I die for these—
THE Wild Ass lounges, legs struc… In vagrom unconcern: The tombs o Achaemenian kings Are for those hooves to spurn. And all of rugged Tartary