Works

A Dublin man will frown when he
Hears a tale of villainy;
But when a kindness you relate,
He swings and whistles on the gate.

Play to the tender stops, though cheerily:
Gently, my soul, my song: let no one hear:
Sing to thyself alone; thine ecstasy
Rising in silence to the inward ear
That is attuned to silence: do not tell...

She is the sky of the sun,
She is the dart
Of love,
She is the love of my heart,
She is a rune,
She is above
The women of the race of Eve
As the sun is above the moon.
...

The sky-like girl whom we knew!
She dressed herself to go to the fair
In a dress of white and blue;
A white lace cap, and ribbons white
She wore in her hair;
She does not hear in the night...

Grey clouds on the tinted sky,
A drifting moon, a quiet breeze
Drooping mournfully to cry
In the branches of the trees.

The crying wind, the sighing trees,
The ruffled stars, the darkness falling...

And then I wakened up in such a fright;
I thought I heard a movement in the room
But did not dare to look; I snuggled right
Down underneath the bedclothes, then the boom...

While I sit beside the window
I can hear the pigeons coo,
That the air is warm and blue,
And how well the young bird flew -
Then I fold my arms and scold the heart
That thought the pigeons knew.
...

Here and there on the wings of night
A fleck of blue and purple light,
A scrap of cloud, a bird, a star,
A comet hurrying afar
On the abyss, and the moon
Standing in her silver shoon.
...

As lily grows up easily,
In modest, gentle dignity
To sweet perfection,
So grew she,
As easily.

Or as the rose that takes no care
Will open out on sunny air...

A small part only of my grief I write;
And if I do not give you all the tale
It is because my gloom gets some respite
By just a small bewailing: I bewail
That I with sly and stupid folk must bide...

Now with the coming in of the spring the days will stretch a bit,
And after the Feast of Brigid I shall hoist my flag and go,
For since the thought got into my head I can neither stand nor sit...

I put the sky into my pocket,
And the sea into my locket,
And into my breeches-band
I put the land.

So I was trotting off to share,
Among my comrades in the lair,...

If the Moon had a hand
I wonder would she
Stretch it down unto me?

If she did, I would go
To her glacier land,
To her ice-covered strand.

I would run, I would fly,...

An old man sat beneath a tree
Alone;
So still was he
That, if he had been carved in stone,
He could not be
More quiet or more cold:
He was an ancient man
More than
A thousand ages old.

Then she arose
And walked in the valley
In her fine clothes.

After great fire
Great frost
Comes following.

Turgesius was lost
By the daughter of Maelsheachlin
The King.
...