#1933 #IrishWriters #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
I– CRAZY JANE AND THE B… Bring me to the blasted oak That I, midnight upon the stroke, (All find safety in the tomb.) May call down curses on his head
A SPECKLED cat and a tame hare Eat at my hearthstone And sleep there; And both look up to me alone For learning and defence
THERE all the golden codgers lay… There the silver dew, And the great water sighed for lov… And the wind sighed too. Man-picker Niamh leant and sighed
INDIGNANT at the fumbling wits… Of our old paudeen in his shop, I… Among the stones and thorn-trees,… Until a curlew cried and in the lu… A curlew answered; and suddenly th…
When my arms wrap you round I pre… My heart upon the loveliness That has long faded from the world… The jewelled crowns that kings hav… In shadowy pools, when armies fled…
I KNOW that I shall meet my fat… Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I fight I do not hate, Those that I guard I do not love; My county is Kiltartan Cross,
Who will go drive with Fergus now… And pierce the deep wood’s woven s… And dance upon the level shore? Young man, lift up your russet bro… And lift your tender eyelids, maid…
What’s riches to him That has made a great peacock With the pride of his eye? The wind-beaten, stone-grey, And desolate Three Rock
FOR one throb of the artery, While on that old grey stone I Sa… Under the old wind-broken tree, I knew that One is animate, Mankind inanimate fantasy’.
I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams, White woman that passion has worn As the tide wears the dove-grey sa… And with heart more old than the h…
(For Harry Clifton) I HAVE heard that hysterical wom… They are sick of the palette and f… Of poets that are always gay, For everybody knows or else should…
We should be hidden from their eye… Being but holy shows And bodies broken like a thorn Whereon the bleak north blows, To think of buried Hector
HIS DREAM I SWAYED upon the gaudy stem The butt-end of a steering-oar, And saw wherever I could turn A crowd upon a shore.
Autumn is over the long leaves tha… And over the mice in the barley sh… Yellow the leaves of the rowan abo… And yellow the wet wild-strawberry… The hour of the waning of love has…
‘She will change,’ I cried. ‘Into a withered crone.’ The heart in my side, That so still had lain, In noble rage replied