Poems and TranslationsMaunsel, 1911 - 50 страница |
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arms Bangor bearing beast beautiful birds bloody choke cock crying dance in Beg-Innish Danny Danny's dead Death DUBLIN Dunquin ears earth exalted poetry eyes faith I'll live Fand flowers girls Glen go walking gone green grey grudge gullet hand hare hear heart Heavens I'VE THIRTY MONTHS jealous jigs Jude kicked knew lads laid to dry lamentation lanes Lark LAURA lepped Let you say lonesome looking Lord M'riarty Jim Maeve Maurya Meath MERGENCY mind MOTHER of God nets are laid night nose Paradise parish priest pass PATCH-SHANEEN peelers PETRARCH Phoenix pleased POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS poetic poets poor PRAY purse Queens Ronsard round score seven SHANEEN SHEE shin sighs singing sinners skinny songs SORROW stars stir stretch sweet thing sweet words SYNGE there's thinking THIRTY MONTHS thoughts THRUSH Till Danny timber turning back verse VILLON wash wind
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Страница 45 - I am this day — my forehead is gone away into furrows, the hair of my head is grey and whitish, my eyebrows are tumbled from me, and my two eyes have died out within my head — those eyes that would be laughing to the men — my nose has a hook on it, my ears are hanging down, and my lips are sharp and skinny. That's what's left over from the beauty of a right woman — a bag of bones, and legs the like of two shrivelled sausages going beneath it. It's of the like of that we old hags do be thinking,...
Страница 21 - "Still south I went and west and south again. Through Wicklow from the morning till the night. And far from cities, and the sights of men, Lived with the sunshine, and the moon's delight. " I knew the stars, the flowers, and the birds, The gray and wintry sides of many glens. And did but half remember human words, In converse with the mountains, moors, and fens.
Страница 25 - THE CURSE To a sister of an enemy of the author's who disapproved of "The Playboy." Lord, confound this surly sister, Blight her brow with blotch and blister, Cramp her larynx, lung, and liver, • In her guts a galling give her. Let her live to earn her dinners In Mountjoy with seedy sinners: Lord, this judgment quickly bring, And I'm your servant, John M.
Страница 44 - It's the way I am this day - my forehead is gone away into furrows, the hair of my head is grey and whitish, my eyebrows are tumbled from me, and my two eyes have died out within my head - those eyes that would be laughing to the men - my nose has a hook on it, my ears are hanging down, and my lips are sharp and skinny.
Страница 13 - Adieu, sweet Angus, Maeve and Fand, Ye plumed yet skinny Shee, That poets played with hand in hand To learn their ecstasy. We'll...
Страница 33 - THE eyes that I would be talking of so warmly, and the arms, and the hands, and the feet, and the face, that are after calling me away from myself and making me a lonesome man among all people. The hair...
Страница 14 - ON AN ANNIVERSARY After reading the dates in a book of Lyrics. WITH Fifteen-ninety or Sixteen-sixteen We end Cervantes, Marot, Nashe or Green: Then Sixteen-thirteen till two score and nine, Is Crashaw's niche, that honey-lipped divine. And so when all my little work is done They'll say I came in Eighteen-seventy-one, And died in Dublin What year will they write For my poor passage to the stall of night...
Страница 36 - HE UNDERSTANDS THE GREAT CRUELTY OF DEATH MY flowery and green age was passing away, and I feeling a chill in the fires had been wasting my heart, for I was drawing near the hillside that is above the grave. Then my sweet enemy was making a start, little by little, to give over her great wariness, the way she was wringing a sweet thing out of my sharp sorrow. The time was coming when Love and Decency can keep company, and lovers may sit together and say out all things are in their hearts.
Страница 44 - I'm come to, and when I do look on my own self, poor and dry, and pinched together, it wouldn't be much would set me raging in the streets. Where is the round forehead I had, and the fine hair, and the two eyebrows, and the eyes with a big gay look out of them would bring folly from a great scholar?