A Hornets’ nest; but stir the branch
And they’ll be round your head and ears!
So wary ana so weaponed,
How do they not possess the wold?
Their lives a watch, their act a doom,
Of their own terrors they must die!
Livid, uneyed, articulate,
How like a skull their nest they make!
Similar Posts
THE little moths are creeping
On the floor the chickens gather,And they make talk and complain.And she sits by the fireWho has reared so many men;Her voice is low like the chickens’With the things she says again:‘The sons that come back do be restless,They search for the thing to say;Then they take thought like the swallows,And the morrow brings them…
‘BELOW there are white-faced throngs,
Below there are white-faced throngs,Their faith is a banner flung higher;Below there are white-faced throngs,White swords they have yet, but red songs;Place and lot they have lost hear you not?For a dream you once dreamed and forgot!’‘But a dream has a life of its ownThe wizard seas it can crossA dream has a life of…
O woman, shapely as the swan,
The men you’ve slain — a trivial clan —Were less than I.I ask me shall I die for these —For blossom teeth and scarlet lips —And shall that delicate swan-shapeBring me eclipse?Well-shaped the breasts and smooth the skin,The cheeks are fair, the tresses free —And yet I shall not suffer death,God over me!Those even brows,…
SHALL I go bound and you go free,
Not so; the falcon o’er my browHath better quest, I dare avow!And must I run where you will ride,And must I stay where you abide?Not so; the feather that I wearIs from an eyrie in the air!And must I climb a broken stair,And must I pace a chamber bare?Not so; the Brenny plains are wideAnd…
FROM THE IRISH
A field from heather free,White sheep upon the mountain,And calves that follow me.I saw you by the well-sideUpon Saint Finnian’s Day;I thought you’d come and ask for meBut you kept far away.Oh, if you ask not for me,But leave me here instead,The petticoat in dye-pot hereWill never fast its redFor me upon the well-slopeTo wear…
THOROUGH waters, thorough nations I have come
Brother, and to appealTo ashes that were you.Since that which none can check has borne youFrom my regard, poor brother, these gifts takeThe tokens that are dueTo ancient pieties;But find them washed with tears, the many tearsA brother shed; and now I say FarewellHenceforth and for all time,Hail, brother, and Farewell!