October - and the skies are cool and gray O'er stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf, Bare meadow, and the slowly falling leaf. The dignity of woods in rich decay Accords full well with this majestic grief...
A wild west Coast, a little Town, Where little Folk go up and down, Tides flow and winds blow: Night and Tempest and the Sea, Human Will and Human Fate: What is little, what is great?...
Oh, lovely Mary Donnelly, my joy, my only best If fifty girls were round you, I'd hardly see the rest; Be what it may the time o' day, the place be where it will...
Through grass, through amber'd cornfields, our slow Stream, Fringed with its flags and reeds and rushes tall, And Meadowsweet, the chosen of them all By wandering children, yellow as the cream...
I'm glad I am alive, to see and feel The full deliciousness of this bright day, That's like a heart with nothing to conceal; The young leaves scarcely trembling; the blue-grey...
Good-bye, good-bye to Summer! For Summer's nearly done; The garden smiling faintly, Cool breezes in the sun; Our Thrushes now are silent, Our Swallows flown away,...
The Abbot of Innisfallen awoke ere dawn of day; Under the dewy green leaves went he forth to pray. The lake around his island lay smooth and dark and deep, And wrapt in a misty stillness...
In early morning twilight, raw and chill, Damp vapours brooding on the barren hill, Through miles of mire in steady grave array Threescore well-arm'd police pursue their way;...
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We darent go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owls feather! ...
With grief and mourning I sit to spin; My Love passed by, and he didn't come in; He passes by me, both day and night, And carries off my poor heart's delight.
Little Cowboy, what have you heard, Up on the lonely rath's green mound? Only the plaintive yellow bird Sighing in sultry fields around, Chary, chary, chary, chee-ee!, Only the grasshopper and the bee?,...
Doleful was the land, Dull on, every side, Neither soft n'or grand, Barren, bleak, and wide; Nothing look'd with love; All was dingy brown; The very skies above Seem'd to sulk and frown. ...
Within a budding grove, In April's ear sang every bird his best, But not a song to pleasure my unrest, Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love; Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest....
When the spinning-room was here Came Three Damsels, clothed in white, With their spindles every night; One and Two and three fair Maidens, Spinning to a pulsing cadence, Singing songs of Elfin-Mere;...
I once was a guest at a Nobleman's wedding; Fair was the Bride, but she scarce had been kind, And now in our mirth, she had tears nigh the shedding Her former true lover still runs in her mind. ...
By the shore, a plot of ground Clips a ruined chapel round, Buttressed with a grassy mound; Where Day and Night and Day go by And bring no touch of human sound.