#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury #1933 #TheWindingStairAndOtherPoems
As I came over Windy Gap They threw a halfpenny into my cap… For I am running to paradise; And all that I need do is to wish And somebody puts his hand in the…
Time drops in decay, Like a candle burnt out, And the mountains and the woods Have their day, have their day; What one in the rout
BECAUSE I am mad about women I am mad about the hills,’ Said that wild old wicked man Who travels where God wills. ‘Not to die on the straw at home.
Through intricate motions ran Stream and gliding sun And all my heart seemed gay: Some stupid thing that I had done Made my attention stray.
SAID lady once to lover, ‘None can rely upon A love that lacks its proper food; And if your love were gone How could you sing those songs of…
Speech after long silence; it is r… All other lovers being estranged o… Unfriendly lamplight hid under its… The curtains drawn upon unfriendly… That we descant and yet again desc…
Kusta Ben Luka is my name, I wri… To Abd Al-Rabban; fellow-royster… Now the good Caliph’s learned Tre… And for no ear but his. Carry this letter
O what to me the little room That was brimmed up with prayer an… He bade me out into the gloom, And my breast lies upon his breast… O what to me my mother’s care,
Be you still, be you still, trembl… Remember the wisdom out of the old… Him who trembles before the flame… And the winds that blow through th… Let the starry winds and the flame…
We that have done and thought, That have thought and done, Must ramble, and thin out Like milk spilt on a stone.
ALTHOUGH I shelter from the ra… Under a broken tree My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics,
The old priest Peter Gilligan Was weary night and day For half his flock were in their b… Or under green sods lay. Once, while he nodded in a chair
Come praise Colonus’ horses, and… The wine-dark of the wood’s intric… The nightingale that deafens dayli… If daylight ever visit where, Unvisited by tempest or by sun,
HERE is fresh matter, poet, Matter for old age meet; Might of the Church and the State… Their mobs put under their feet. O but heart’s wine shall run pure,
Swayed upon the gaudy stern The butt-end of a steering-oar, And saw wherever I could turn A crown upon the shore. I And though I would have hushed…
