Ai, ai, poor mother, your birth-pangs were fruitless: I am wroth with these spirits.
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O Sword, you are the younger brother, the latter-born,...
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We are voyagers, discoverers of the not-known, the unrecorded; we have no map; possibly we will reach haven, heaven.
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Her breasts under her gown are cold, for a flower has grown, murex-red on the red gown.
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You prefer a woman under the earth, you heap roses above a grave;...
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I will be free, no lover's kiss to bind me to earth, no bliss of love to counteract actual bliss.
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I always cheer up immensely if an attack is particularly wounding because I think, well, if they attack one personally, it means they have not a single political argument left.
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That way of inspiration is always open,...
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It was easy enough to bend them to my wish, it was easy enough to alter them with a touch.
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I have made it quite clear that a unified Ireland was one solution that is out. A second solution was a confederation of two states. That is out. A third solution was joint authority. That is out-that is a derogation of sovereignty.
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I smiled, I waited, I was circumspect; O never, never, never write that I missed life or loving.
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I was alone now my beautiful peace has gone; did I ask you here?
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Gone the dear chatterer; Death succeeds Atimetus.
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Let him go forth radiant, let life rise in his young breast,...
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Let the palings of her bed Be quince and box-wood overlaid...
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No poetic phantasy but a biological reality,...
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How I envy you death; what could death bring,...
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I'll stake all my soul on that beauty,...
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My brain sang a rhythm I never dreamt to sing, "I will be gay and laugh and sing, he is going away."
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The race may or may not be to the swift, but tell me, is it likely that the fight will be entrusted to the dead?
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For this beauty, beauty without strength, chokes out life.
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Fall the deep curtains, delicate the weave, fair the thread.
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Ardent yet chill and formal, how I ache to tempt a chisel as a sculptor.
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Alas, day, you brought light, You trailed splendour...
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She comes to meet death, To stain the altar of the goddess, To hold her girl-throat Toward the knife-thrust.
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I have a habit of comparing the phraseology of communiqus, one with another across the years, and noting a certain similarity of words, a certain similarity of optimism in the reports which followed the summit meetings and a certain similarity in the lack of practical results during the ensuing years.
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Lais is now no lover of the glass, seeing no more the face as once it was, wishing to see that face and finding this.
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Honour came to me, though I sought it not;...
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Each of us like you has died once, each of us like you stands apart, like you fit to be worshipped.
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I knew the poor, I knew the hideous death they die,...
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