#CarpeDiem #IrishWriters
“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,…
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…
HE gathered cherry-stones, and ca… Into fine semblances of flies and… With subtle skill, he even imaged… The forms of tiny maids and ivied… His little blocks he loved to file…
HE was old and alone, and he sat… His beard was white, and his eye w… With a mild content at the way lif… ‘I will venture a look in this liv… And I said: ‘ My friend, have you…
THERE are times when a dream del… Steals into a musing hour, Like a face with love capricious That peeps from a woodland bower; And one dear scene comes changeles…
THE Word was first, says the rev… Justice is older than error or str… The Word preceded the Incarnation As symbol and type of law and life… And always so are the mighty chang…
WHAT song is best for the soldie… Take no heed of the words, nor cho… Let it burst out from the heart li… Natural, clear, resistless, leapin… Whether of love or hate or war or…
I KNEW it all my boyhood: in a l… Like a dryad’s mirror hidden by th… Its eye flashed back the sunshine,… And I loved its truthful depths w… I scooped my hand and drank it, an…
WE were down in the Indian Ocean… The last six months in the tropics… Five men up on the royal yards, we… And every day like its brother,—ju… Nothing to break the sameness: wat…
“HE is false to the heart!' she s… He promises fair as a tree in blos… The fruit is rotten ere ripe. Tea… All withered and wasted! and still… Comfort? There is no comfort when…
NOT many friends Wish I you; Love makes amends For the few. Slight bonds are best
AS grains from chaff, I sift thes… Kernels of wisdom, from the husks… Benevolence befits the wisest mind… But he who has not studied to be k… Who grants for asking, gives witho…
Chicago, October 9,1871. GAUNT in the midst of the prairi… She who was once so fair; Charred and rent are her garments, Heavy and dark like cerements;
I START! I have slept for a mom… I have dreamt, sitting here by her… Oh, how lonely! What was it that… What presence, what heaven-sent ai… It was nothing, you say. But I tr…
THE STORY OF AN ARCTIC N… AY, ay, I’ll tell you, shipmates, If you care to hear the tale, How myself and the royal yard alon… Were left of the old Narwhale.