To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze
And by the unlabouring brood of the skies:
And therefore my heart will bow, when dew
Is dropping sleep, until God burn time,
Before the unlabouring stars and you.
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ALL the heavy days are over;
Underneath the grass and clover,With the feet laid side by side.Bathed in flaming founts of dutyShe’ll not ask a haughty dress;Carry all that mournful beautyTo the scented oaken press.Did the kiss of Mother MaryPut that music in her face?Yet she goes with footstep wary,Full of earth’s old timid grace.‘Mong the feet of angels sevenWhat a…
I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs,
And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the woodWith her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes:I cried in my dream ‘O women bid the young men lay‘Their heads on your knees, and drown their eyes with your hair,‘Or remembering hers they will find no other face fair‘Till all the valleys of the…
O BUT we talked at large before
But who can talk of give and take,What should be and what notWhile those dead men are loitering thereTo stir the boiling pot?You say that we should still the landTill Germany’s overcome;But who is there to argue thatNow Pearse is deaf and dumb?And is their logic to outweighMacDonagh’s bony thumb?how could you dream they’d listenThat…
NOW as at all times I can see in the mind’s eye,
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the skyWith all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,And all their helms of Silver hovering side by side,And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,Being by Calvary’s turbulence unsatisfied,The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.
THE jester walked in the garden:
He bade his soul rise upwardAnd stand on her window-sill.It rose in a straight blue garment,When owls began to call:It had grown wise-tongued by thinkingOf a quiet and light footfall;But the young queen would not listen;She rose in her pale night-gown;She drew in the heavy casementAnd pushed the latches down.He bade his heart go to…
Now, man of croziers, shadows called our names
And now fled by, mist-covered, without sound,The youth and lady and the deer and hound;‘Gaze no more on the phantoms,’ Niamh said,And kissed my eyes, and, swaying her bright headAnd her bright body, sang of faery and manBefore God was or my old line began;Wars shadowy, vast, exultant; faeries of oldWho wedded men with rings…