#IrishWriters
You gave, but will not give again Until enough of paudeen’s pence By Biddy’s halfpennies have lain To be 'some sort of evidence’, Before you’ll put your guineas dow…
Now, man of croziers, shadows call… And then away, away, like whirling… And now fled by, mist-covered, wit… The youth and lady and the deer an… ‘Gaze no more on the phantoms,’ N…
The fascination of what’s difficul… Has dried the sap out of my veins,… Spontaneous joy and natural conten… Out of my heart. There’s somethin… That must, as if it had not holy b…
The quarrel of the sparrows in the… The full round moon and the star—l… And the loud song of the ever—sing… Had hid away earth’s old and weary… And then you came with those red m…
O BUT we talked at large before The sixteen men were shot, But who can talk of give and take, What should be and what not While those dead men are loitering…
A BLOODY and a sudden end, Gunshot or a noose, For Death who takes what man woul… Leaves what man would lose. He might have had my sister,
I have met them at close of day Coming with vivid faces From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. I have passed with a nod of the he…
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 Because of my dear Jack that’s de…
A man came slowly from the setting… To Emer, raddling raiment in her… And said, “I am that swineherd wh… Go watch the road between the wood… But now I have no need to watch i…
All things can tempt me from this… One time it was a woman’s face, or… The seeming needs of my fool-drive… Now nothing but comes readier to t… Than this accustomed toil. When I…
O sweet everlasting Voices, be st… Go to the guards of the heavenly f… And bid them wander obeying your w… Flame under flame, till Time be n… Have you not heard that our hearts…
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
When the flaming lute-thronged ang… When an immortal passion breathes… Our hearts endure the scourge, the… Crowded with bitter faces, the wou… The vinegar-heavy sponge, the flow…
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
'Love is all Unsatisfied That cannot take the whole Body and soul’; And that is what Jane said.