Katty Gollagher (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    The hill is bare: I only find
        The grass, the sky, and one small tree
    Tossing wildly on the wind;
        And that is all there is to see:
    A tree, a hill, a wind, a sky
    Where nothing ever passes by.

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

Grafton Street (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

The Rivals

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

At The Fair (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

The Devil's Bag (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

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.

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

Stephen's Green (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    The wind stood up and gave a shout;
        He whistled on his fingers, and
    Kicked the withered leaves about
        And thumped the branches with his hand,
    And said he'd kill, and kill, and kill,
    And so he will, and so he will.

James Stephens

The Bare Trees (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    Unfortunates, on the bare tree!
    I mourn for ye
    That have no place to house,
    But on those winter-white cold boughs
        To sit,
        (How far apart ye sit)
    And brood
    In this wide, wintry solitude
        That has no song at all to hearten it.

    Fly away, little birds!
        Fly away to Spain,
    Stay there all the winter
        Then come back again;
    Come back in the summer
        When the leaves are thick;
    Little weeny cold birds
        Fly away quick.

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

The College Of Surgeons (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    As I stood at the door
        Sheltered out of the wind,
    Something flew in
        Which I hardly could find.

    In the dim, gloomy doorway
        I searched till I found
    A dry withered leaf
        Lying down on the ground.

    With thin, pointed claws
        And a dry dusty skin,,
    Sure a hall is no place
        For a leaf to be in!

    Oh where is your tree,
        And your summer and all,
    Poor dusty leaf
        Whistled into a hall?

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