The sun is weary, for he ran So far and fast to-day; The birds are weary, for who sang So many songs as they? The bees and butterflies at last Are tired out, for just think too...
Ah! did you ever hear the Spring Calling you through the snow, Or hear the little blackbird sing Inside its egg - or go To that green land where grass begins, Each tiny seed, to grow? ...
Spake the Lord Christ - "I will arise." It seemed a saying void and vain - How shall a dead man rise again! - Vain as our tears, vain as our cries. Not one of all the little band...
There's nothing I know of to make you spend A day of your life at Cragwell End. It's a village quiet and grey and old, A little village tucked into a fold (A sort of valley, not over wide)...
When the fierce bugle thrilled alarm, From lands apart these fighters came. An equal courage nerved each arm, And stirred each generous heart to flame.
Poet of doom, dementia, and death, Of beauty singing in a charnel house, Like the lost soul of a poor moon-mad maid, With too much loving of some lord of hell;...
Her eyes are bluebells now, her voice a bird, And the long sighing grass her elegy; She who a woman was is now a star In the high heaven shining down on me.
Hail and Farewell, dear Brother of the Pen, Maker of sunshine for the minds of men, Lord of bright cheer and master of our hearts - What plaint is fit when such a friend departs?...
The human heart will never change, The human dream will still go on, The enchanted earth be ever strange With moonlight and the morning sun, And still the seas shall shout for joy,...
Simple am I, I care no whit For pelf or place, It is enough for me to sit And watch Dulcinea's face; To mark the lights and shadows flit Across the silver moon of it. ...
Paris, half Angel, half Grisette, I would that I were with thee yet, Where the long boulevard at even Stretches its starry lamps to heaven, And whispers from a thousand trees...
High on his Patmos of the Southern Seas Our northern dreamer sleeps, Strange stars above him, and above his grave Strange leaves and wings their tropic splendours wave,...
Tell me, strange heart, so mysteriously beating - Unto what end? Body and soul so mysteriously meeting, Strange friend and friend; Hand clasped in hand so mysteriously faring,...
O never laugh again! Laughter is dead, Deep hiding in her grave, A sacred thing. O never laugh again, Never take hands and run Through the wild streets, Or sing, Glad in the sun:...
Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland? The grey-blue eyes so strangely grey and blue, The fighting loving eyes, The eyes that tell no lies - Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland? ...
Poet, whose words are like the tight-packed seed Sealed in the capsule of a silver flower, Still at your art we wonder as we read, The art dynamic charging each word with power. ...