Poems begining by T
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The Child of Destiny
© George William Russell
THIS is the hero-heart of the enchanted isle,
Whom now the twilight children tenderly enfold,
Pat with their pearly palms and crown with elfin gold,
While in the mountains breast his brothers watch and smile.
The Garden of God
© George William Russell
WITHIN the iron cities
One walked unknown for years,
In his heart the pity of pities
That grew for human tears.
The Parting of Ways
© George William Russell
THE SKIES from black to pearly grey
Had veered without a star or sun;
Only a burning opal ray
Fell on your brow when all was done.
The Earth
© George William Russell
THEY tell me that the earth is still the same
Although the Red Branch now is but a name,
That yonder peasant lifting up his eyes
Can see the marvel of the morning rise,
The wonder Deirdre gazed on when she came.
The Master Singer
© George William Russell
A LAUGHTER in the diamond air, a music in the trembling grass;
And one by one the words of light as joydrops through my being pass:
I am the sunlight in the heart, the silver moon-glow in the mind;
My laughter runs and ripples through the wavy tresses of the wind.
The Golden Age
© George William Russell
WHEN the morning breaks above us
And the wild sweet stars have fled,
By the faery hands that love us
Wakened you and I will tread
The Everlasting Battle
© George William Russell
WHEN in my shadowy hours I pierce the hidden heart of hopes and fears,
They change into immortal joys or end in immemorial tears.
Moyturas battle still endures and in this human heart of mine
The golden sun powers with the might of demon darkness intertwine.
The Christ-sword
© George William Russell
THE WHILE my mad brain whirled around
She only looked with eyes elate
Immortal love at me. I found
How deep the glance of love can wound,
How cruel pity is to hate.
The Nuts of Knowledge
© George William Russell
A CABIN on the mountain side hid in a grassy nook
Where door and windows open wide that friendly stars may look.
The rabbit shy can patter in, the winds may enter free,
Who throng around the mountain throne in living ecstasy.
The Faces of Memory
© George William Russell
DREAM faces bloom around your face
Like flowers upon one stem;
The heart of many a vanished race
Sighs as I look on them.
The Earth Breath
© George William Russell
FROM the cool and dark-lipped furrows
Breathes a dim delight
Through the woodlands purple plumage
To the diamond night.
The Virgin Mother
© George William Russell
WHO is that goddess to whom men should pray,
But her from whom their hearts have turned away,
Out of whose virgin being they were born,
Whose mother nature they have named with scorn
Calling its holy substance common clay.
The Dream of the Children
© George William Russell
THE CHILDREN awoke in their dreaming
While earth lay dewy and still:
They followed the rill in its gleaming
To the heart-light of the hill.
The Mid-World
© George William Russell
THIS is the red, red region
Your heart must journey through:
Your pains will here be legion
And joy be death for you.
The Weaver of Souls
© George William Russell
WHO is this unseen messenger
For ever between me and her,
Who brings loves precious merchandise,
The golden breath, the dew of sighs,
The Silence of Love
© George William Russell
I COULD praise you once with beautiful words ere you came
And entered my life with love in a wind of flame.
I could lure with a song from afar my bird to its nest,
But with pinions drooping together silence is best.
The Dream
© George William Russell
I WOKE to find my pillow wet
With the tears for deeds deep hid in sleep.
I knew no sorrow here, but yet
The tears fell softly through the deep.
The Dawn of Darkness
© George William Russell
COME earths little children pit-pat from their burrows on the hill;
Hangs within the gloom its weary head the shining daffodil.
In the valley underneath us through the fragrance flit along
Over fields and over hedgerows little quivering drops of song.
The Heroes
© George William Russell
BY many a dream of God and man my thoughts in shining flocks were led:
But as I went through Patrick Street the hopes and prophecies were dead.
The hopes and prophecies were dead: they could not blossom where the feet
Walked amid rottenness, or where the brawling shouters stamped the street.
The Pain of Earth
© George William Russell
DOES the earth grow grey with grief
For her hero darling fled?
Though her vales let fall no leaf,
In our hearts her tears are shed.
