Time poems
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The Burning-Glass
© George William Russell
A SHAFT of fire that falls like dew,
And melts and maddens all my blood,
From out thy spirit flashes through
The burning-glass of womanhood.
Kinship
© George William Russell
IN summer time, with high imaginings
Of proud Crusaders and of Paynim kings,
The children crowned themselves with famous names,
And fought there, building up their merry games,
Their mimic war, from old majestic things.
On Behalf of Some Irishmen not Followers of Tradition
© George William Russell
THEY call us aliens, we are told,
Because our wayward visions stray
From that dim banner they unfold,
The dreams of worn-out yesterday.
Children of Lir
© George William Russell
WE woke from our sleep in the bosom where cradled together we lay:
The love of the dark hidden Father went with us upon our way.
And gay was the breath in our being, and never a sorrow or fear
Was on us as, singing together, we flew from the infinite Lir.
Weariness
© George William Russell
WHERE are now the dreams divine,
Fires that lit the dawning soul,
As the ruddy colours shine
Through an opal aureole?
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.
Mystery
© George William Russell
WHY does this sudden passion smite me?
I stretch my hands, all blind to see:
I need the lamp of the world to light me,
Lead me and set me free.
Alter Ego
© George William Russell
ALL the morn a spirit gay
Breathes within my heart a rhyme,
Tis but hide and seek we play
In and out the courts of time.
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.
Affinity
© George William Russell
YOU and I have found the secret way,
None can bar our love or say us nay:
All the world may stare and never know
You and I are twined together so.
Our Thrones Decay
© George William Russell
I SAID my pleasure shall not move;
It is not fixed in things apart:
Seeking not lovebut yet to love
I put my trust in mine own heart.
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.
Aphrodite
© George William Russell
NOT unremembering we pass our exile from the starry ways:
One timeless hour in time we caught from the long night of endless days.
With solemn gaiety the stars danced far withdrawn on elfin heights:
The lilac breathed amid the shade of green and blue and citron lights.
Truth
© George William Russell
THE HERO first thought it
To him twas a deed:
To those who retaught it,
A chain on their speed.
Epilogue
© George William Russell
WELL, when all is said and done
Best within my narrow way,
May some angel of the sun
Muse memorial oer my clay:
Light and Dark
© George William Russell
NOT the soul thats whitest
Wakens love the sweetest:
When the heart is lightest
Oft the charm is fleetest.
A Farewell
© George William Russell
I GO down from the hills half in gladness, and half with a pain I depart,
Where the Mother with gentlest breathing made music on lip and in heart;
For I know that my childhood is over: a call comes out of the vast,
And the love that I had in the old time, like beauty in twilight, is past.
Self-Discipline
© George William Russell
WHEN the soul sought refuge in the place of rest,
Overborne by strife and pain beyond control,
From some secret hollow, whisper soft-confessed,
Came the legend of the soul.
The Hon. Sec.
© John Betjeman
The flag that hung half-mast today
Seemed animate with being
As if it knew for who it flew
And will no more be seeing.
Back From Australia
© John Betjeman
At home in Cornwall hurrying autumn skies
Leave Bray Hill barren, Stepper jutting bare,
And hold the moon above the sea-wet sand.
The very last of late September dies
In frosty silence and the hills declare
How vast the sky is, looked at from the land.
