Search Results for: Shell Poems

< Return to all Wordsworth poems The World Is Too Much With Us The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to […]

< Return to All WB Yeats The Ballad of the Foxhunter “Now lay me in a cushioned chair “And carry me, you four, “With cushions here and cushions there, “To see the world once more. “And some one from the stables bring “My Dermot dear and brown, “And lead him gently in a ring, “And […]

< Return to All WB Yeats The Ballad of Mol Magee Come round me, little childer; There, don’t fling stones at me Because I mutter as I go; But pity Moll Magee. My man was a poor fisher With shore lines in the say; My work was saltin’ herrings The whole of the long day. […]

< Return to All WB Yeats The Ballad of Father O’Hart Good Father John O’Hart In penal days rode out To a shoneen who had free lands And his own snipe and trout. In trust took he John’s lands; Sleiveens were all his race; And he gave them as dowers to his daughters, And they […]

< Return to All WB Yeats The Meditation of the Old Fisherman You waves, though you dance by my feet like children at play, Though you glow and you glance, though you purr and you dart; In the Junes that were warmer than these are, the waves were more gay, When I was a boy […]

< Return to All WB Yeats Down by the Salley Gardens Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree. […]

< Return to All WB Yeats To an Isle in the Water Shy one, shy one, Shy one of my heart, She moves in the firelight Pensively apart. She carries in the dishes, And lays them in a row. To an isle in the water With her would I go. She carries in the candles, […]

< Return to All WB Yeats The Stolen Child Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water rats; There we’ve hid our faery vats, Full of berries, And of reddest stolen cherries. Come away, O human child! To the waters […]

< Return to All WB Yeats Ephemera “Your eyes that once were never weary of mine “Are bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids, “Because our love is waning.” And then she: “Although our love is waning, let us stand “By the lone border of the lake once more, “Together in that hour of gentleness “When […]

< Return to All WB Yeats The Indian to his Love The island dreams under the dawn And great boughs drop tranquillity; The peahens dance on a smooth lawn, A parrot sways upon a tree, Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea. Here we will moor our lonely ship And wander ever with […]

< Return to All WB Yeats The Indian Upon God I passed along the water’s edge below the humid trees, My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my knees, My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs; and saw the moorfowl pace All dripping on a grassy slope, and saw them cease to chase […]

< Return to All WB Yeats The Cloak, the Boot, and the Shoes “What do you make so fair and bright?” “I make the cloak of Sorrow: “O, lovely to see in all men’s sight “Shall be the cloak of Sorrow, “In all men’s sight.” “What do you build with sails for flight?” “I build […]

<Return to All WB Yeats The Sad Shepherd There was a man whom Sorrow named his friend, And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming, Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming And humming sands, where windy surges wend: And he called loudly to the stars to bend From their pale thrones and comfort […]

<Return to All WB Yeats The Song of the Happy Shepherd The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed; Gray Truth is now her painted toy; Yet still she turns her restless head: But O, sick children of the world, Of all the many […]

<Return to All WB Yeats To Ireland in the Coming Times Know, that I would accounted be True brother of that company, Who sang to sweeten Ireland’s wrong, Ballad and story, rann and song; Nor be I any less of them, Because the red-rose-bordered hem Of her, whose history began Before God made the angelic […]

<Return to All WB Yeats The Two Trees Beloved, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there; From joy the holy branches start, And all the trembling flowers they bear. The changing colours of its fruit Have dowered the stars with merry light; The surety of its hidden root Has planted quiet […]