Changing Ireland: Literary Backgrounds of the Irish Free State, 1889-1922

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Harvard University Press, 1924 - 259 pages

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Page 75 - HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Page 78 - The first time on this shore, The bell-beat of their wings above my head, Trod with a lighter tread. Unwearied still, lover by lover, They paddle in the cold Companionable streams or climb the air; Their hearts have not grown old; Passion or conquest, wander where they will, Attend upon them still.
Page 26 - I arise today Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the threeness, Through confession of the oneness Of the Creator of Creation.
Page 77 - THE trees are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the October twilight the water Mirrors a still sky; Upon the brimming water among the stones Are nine-and-fifty swans. The nineteenth autumn has come upon me Since I first made my count; I saw, before I had well finished, All suddenly mount And scatter wheeling in great broken rings Upon their clamorous wings. I have looked upon those brilliant creatures, And now my heart is sore. All's changed...
Page 24 - Magic is just the word for it,- the magic of nature; not merely the beauty of nature, that the Greeks and Latins had; not merely an honest smack of the soil, a faithful realism, that the Germans had; but the intimate life of Nature, her weird power and her fairy charm.
Page 136 - I saw the spires of Oxford As I was passing by, The gray spires of Oxford Against a pearl-gray sky, My heart was with the Oxford men Who went abroad to die.
Page 100 - Be green upon their graves, O happy Spring, For they were young and eager who are dead ; Of all things that are young and quivering With eager life be they remembered: They move not here, they have gone to the clay, They cannot die again for liberty; Be they remembered of their land for aye; Green be their graves and green their memory. " Fragrance and beauty come in with the green, The ragged bushes put on sweet attire, The birds forget how chill these airs have been, The clouds bloom out again...
Page 116 - BEHIND THE CLOSED EYE I WALK the old frequented ways That wind around the tangled braes, I live again the sunny days Ere I the city knew. And scenes of old again are born, The woodbine lassoing the thorn, And drooping Ruth-like in the corn The poppies weep the dew. Above me in their hundred schools The magpies bend their young to rules, And like an apron full of jewels The dewy cobweb swings.
Page 73 - If they had something else to write about besides political opinions, if more of them would write about the beliefs of the people like Allingham, or about old legends like Ferguson, they would find it easier to get a style.' Then with a deliberateness that still surprises me, for in my heart of hearts I have never been quite certain that one should be more than an artist, that even patriotism is more than an impure desire in an artist...
Page 137 - They left the peaceful river, The cricket field, the quad, The shaven lawns of Oxford To seek a bloody sod. They gave their merry youth away For country and for God. God rest you, happy gentlemen, Who laid your good lives down, Who took the khaki and the gun Instead of cap and gown. God bring you to a fairer place Than even Oxford town.

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