Donnybrook (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    I saw the moon so broad and bright
    Sailing high on a frosty night:

    And the air swung far and far between
    The silver disc and the orb of green:

    While here and there a wisp of white
    Cloud-film swam on the misty light:

    And crusted thickly on the sky,
    High and higher and yet more high,

    Were golden star-points dusted through
    The great, wide, silent vault of blue:

    Then I said to me, God is good
    And the world is fair, and where I stood

    I knelt me down and bent my head,
    And said my prayers, and went to bed.

James Stephens

James Stephens was an Irish novelist and poet, whose literary output includes many retellings of Irish myths and fairy tales. He was born on February 9, 1880, and passed away on December 26, 1950. Notable works include 'The Crock of Gold' and 'The Demi-Gods'. Stephens also wrote several well-regarded collections of poetry, including 'The Hill of Vision' and 'Insurrections'. His work is characterized by a blend of myth, fantasy, and modernism, capturing the spirit and culture of Ireland.

James Stephens

The White Window (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

White Fields (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

Day And Night (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

Women

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Mount Street (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    Here and there on the wings of night
    A fleck of blue and purple light,
    A scrap of cloud, a bird, a star,
    A comet hurrying afar
    On the abyss, and the moon
    Standing in her silver shoon.

    On the summit of the sky,
    Delicate and proud and high,
    The silver moon on a silver sea
    Spins her silver broidery
    While the stars send down a light
    Here and there on the wings of night.

James Stephens

Merrion Square (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    Grey clouds on the tinted sky,
    A drifting moon, a quiet breeze
    Drooping mournfully to cry
    In the branches of the trees.

    The crying wind, the sighing trees,
    The ruffled stars, the darkness falling
    Down the sky, and on the breeze
    A belated linnet calling.

James Stephens

O'Connell Bridge (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    In Dublin town the people see
    Gorgeous clouds sail gorgeously,
    They are finer, I declare,
    Than the clouds of anywhere.

    A swirl of blue and red and green,
    A stream of blinding gold, a sheen
    From silver hill and pearly ridge
    Comes each evening on the bridge.

    So when you walk in a field, look down,
    Lest you tramp on a daisy's crown,
    But in a city look always high
    And watch the beautiful clouds go by.

James Stephens

Holles Street (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    Through the air,
    Everywhere, the rain is falling;
    Brawling on house and tree:
    On every place that you can see
    The rain drops go;
    The roofs are wet, the walls, the ground below.

    Midnight has come;
    Now all the people stretch them blind and dumb
    Each in a bed
    Save I, who sit and listen overhead
    Unto the rain
    Splashing upon the roof and window-pane.

    Midnight! and I
    Can get no sleep, nor can the sky.

James Stephens

The Paps Of Dana (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    The mountains stand and stare around,
        They are far too proud to speak;
    Altho' they're rooted in the ground,
        Up they go, peak after peak,
    Beyond the tallest tree, and still
        Soaring over house and hill
    Until you'd think they'd never stop
        Going up, top over top,
    Into the clouds,
                                Still I mark
        That a sparrow or a lark
    Flying just as high, can sing
        As if he'd not done anything.

    I think the mountains ought to be
    Taught a little modesty.

James Stephens

Westland Row (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    Every Sunday there's a throng
    Of pretty girls, who trot along
    In a pious, breathless state
    (They are nearly always late)
    To the Chapel, where they pray
    For the sins of Saturday.

    They have frocks of white and blue,
    Yellow sashes they have too,
    And red ribbons show each head
    Tenderly is ringleted;
    And the bell rings loud, and the
    Railway whistles urgently.

    After Chapel they will go,
    Walking delicately slow,
    Telling still how Father John
    Is so good to look upon,
    And such other grave affairs
    As they thought of during prayers.

James Stephens