Essays |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 55
Page 3
... Irish literature and Irish history . We had no Gaelic , but paid great honour to the Irish poets who wrote in English , and quoted them in our speeches . I could have told you at that time the dates of the birth and death , and quoted ...
... Irish literature and Irish history . We had no Gaelic , but paid great honour to the Irish poets who wrote in English , and quoted them in our speeches . I could have told you at that time the dates of the birth and death , and quoted ...
Page 5
... Irish , and at last down into Connaught to sit by turf fires . I wanted to write ' popular poetry ' like those Irish poets , for I believed that all good literatures were popular , and even cherished the fancy that the Adelphi melodrama ...
... Irish , and at last down into Connaught to sit by turf fires . I wanted to write ' popular poetry ' like those Irish poets , for I believed that all good literatures were popular , and even cherished the fancy that the Adelphi melodrama ...
Page 13
... Irish , and for a people the counting - house has not made forgetful . Among the seven or eight hundred thousand who have had Irish from the cradle , there is , perhaps , nobody who has not enough of the un- written tradition to know ...
... Irish , and for a people the counting - house has not made forgetful . Among the seven or eight hundred thousand who have had Irish from the cradle , there is , perhaps , nobody who has not enough of the un- written tradition to know ...
Page 23
... Irish File , so many poems and notations that they will never have to bend their heads over the book , to the ruin of dramatic expres- sion and of that wild air the bard had always about him in my boyish imagination . They will go here ...
... Irish File , so many poems and notations that they will never have to bend their heads over the book , to the ruin of dramatic expres- sion and of that wild air the bard had always about him in my boyish imagination . They will go here ...
Page 53
... Irish woman , fresh from a convent school , cast into a profound trance , though not by a method known to any hypnotist . In her waking state she thought the apple of Eve was the kind of apple you can buy at the greengrocer's , but in ...
... Irish woman , fresh from a convent school , cast into a profound trance , though not by a method known to any hypnotist . In her waking state she thought the apple of Eve was the kind of apple you can buy at the greengrocer's , but in ...
Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
ancient Aran Islands artist beauty become believe Blake body cave colour comes create Daemon Dante death delight desire divine Divine Comedy drama dream ecstasy emotion energy eternal eyes Faerie Queene fire FLORENCE FARR fountain genius happy heart images imagination intellectual Ireland Irish J. M. Synge knew labour Lady Gregory light literature living look lovers lyric magic Matthew Arnold memory mind modern mood moral move movement nature never painting pass passion perfect perhaps play players poems poet poetry praise psaltery remember rhythm Richard II saint Scholar Gipsy seemed shadow Shakespeare Shelley sing sleep song sorrow soul speak Spenser spoke stars story strange symbols Synge theatre things thought tion tradition Tree understand verses vision voice W. B. YEATS wandering William Blake woman women words write wrote young Young Ireland
Popular passages
Page 129 - Tired with all these, for restful death I cry: As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly doctor-like controlling skill, And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill.
Page 109 - I can give not what men call love, But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above And the Heavens reject not, The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow...
Page 9 - Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour; Brightness falls from the air, Queens have died young and fair, Dust hath closed Helen's eye.
Page 162 - For mercy, pity, peace, and love, Is God our Father dear ; And mercy, pity, peace, and love, Is man, His child and care. For Mercy has a human heart, Pity a human face ; And Love, the human form divine ; And Peace, the human dress.
Page 86 - That thus enchains us to permitted ill. We might be otherwise, we might be all We dream of happy, high, majestical. Where is the love, beauty and truth we seek, But in our mind? and if we were not weak, Should we be less in deed than in desire?' 'Ay, if we were not weak — and we aspire How vainly to be strong!' said Maddalo; 'You talk Utopia.
Page 217 - I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows ; Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine...
Page 90 - I dare not guess ; but in this life Of error, ignorance, and strife, Where nothing is, but all things seem, And we the shadows of the dream, It is a modest creed, and yet Pleasant if one considers it, To own that death itself must be, Like all the rest, a mockery.
Page 28 - The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away, While the faeries dance in a place apart, Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring, Tossing their milk-white arms in the air: For they hear the wind laugh, and murmur and sing Of a land where even the old are fair, And even the wise are merry of tongue; But I heard a reed of Coolaney say, "When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung, The lonely of heart is withered away!
Page 92 - Fury The beauty of delight makes lovers glad, Gazing on one another : so are we. As from the rose which the pale priestess kneels To gather for her festal crown of flowers The aerial crimson falls, flushing her cheek, So from our victim's destined agony The shade which is our form invests us round, — Else we are shapeless as our mother Night.
Page 490 - We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.