‘Twixt page and uncut page, these words I read –
Some six or seven at most – and learned thereby
That you, Fitzgerald, whom by ear and eye
She never knew, ‘thanked God my wife was dead.’
Aye, dead! and were yourself alive, good Fitz,
How to return you thanks would task my wits.
Kicking you seems the common lot of curs –
While more appropriate greeting lends you grace,
Surely to spit there glorifies your face –
Spitting from lips once sanctified by hers.
It was roses, roses, all the way,With myrtle mixed in my path like mad:The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,A year ago on this very day.II.The air broke into a mist with bells,The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries.Had I said, “Good folk, mere noise repels—But give…
To a speeding wind and a bounding wave–A gallant armament:Each bark built out of a forest-treeLeft leafy and rough as first it grew,And nail’d all over the gaping sides,Within and without, with black bull-hides,Seethed in fat and suppled in flame,To bear the playful billows’ game;So, each good ship was rude to see,Rude and bare to…
First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock!Gods of my birthplace, dæmons and heroes, honour to all!Then I name thee, claim thee for our patron, co-equal in praiseAy, with Zeus the Defender, with Her of the ægis and spear!Also, ye of the bow and the buskin, praised be your peer,Now, henceforth, and…
If she meant I should not love her!There are plenty … men, you call such,I suppose … she may discoverAll her soul to, if she pleases,And yet leave much as she found them:But I’m not so, and she knew itWhen she fixed me, glancing round them,II.What? To fix me thus meant nothing?But I can’t tell…
Need I hope to see his faceAs before.Once his love grown chill,Mine may strive:Bitterly we re-embrace,Single still.II.Was it something said,Something done,Vexed him? was it touch of hand,Turn of head?Strange! that very wayLove begun:I as little understandLove’s decay.III.When I sewed or drew,I recallHow he looked as if I sung,—Sweetly too.If I spoke a word,First of allUp…
That hoary cripple, with malicious eyeAskance to watch the working of his lieOn mine, and mouth scarce able to affordSuppression of the glee, that pursed and scoredIts edge, at one more victim gained thereby.II.What else should he be set for, with his staff?What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnareAll travellers who might find him…
