The County Mayo

    Now with the coming in of the spring the days will stretch a bit,
    And after the Feast of Brigid I shall hoist my flag and go,
    For since the thought got into my head I can neither stand nor sit
    Until I find myself in the middle of the County of Mayo.

    In Claremorris I would stop a night and sleep with decent men,
    And then go on to Balla just beyond and drink galore,
    And next to Kiltimagh for a visit of about a month, and then
    I would only be a couple of miles away from Ballymore.

    I say and swear my heart lifts up like the lifting of a tide,
    Rising up like the rising wind till fog or mist must go,
    When I remember Carra and Gallen close beside,
    And the Gap of the Two Bushes, and the wide plains of Mayo.

    To Killaden then, to the place where everything grows that is best,
    There are raspberries there and strawberries there and all that is good for men;
    And if I were only there in the middle of my folk my heart could rest,
    For age itself would leave me there and I'd be young again.

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 Paps Of Dana (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

The Snare

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

Behind The Hill (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

The Shadow (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

English

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His Praise Of The Little Hill And The Plains Of Mayo

After the Christmas, with the help of Christ, I will never stop if I am alive; I will go to the sharp-edged little hill; for it is a fine place without fog falling; a blessed placethat    the sun shines on, and the wind doesn't rise there or anything of the sort.

And if you were a year there you would get no rest, only sitting up at night and forever drinking.The lamb and the sheep are there; the cow and the calf are there, fine lands are there without    heath and without bog. Ploughing & seed-sowing in the right month, plough and harrow prepared and ready; the rent that is called for there, they have means to pay it. There is oats and flax & large eared barley. There are beautiful    valleys with good growth in them and hay. Rods grow there, and bushes and tufts, white fields are there and respect for trees; shade and...

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Lettermore

These winter days on Lettermore
The brown west wind it sweeps the bay,
And icy rain beats on the bare
Unhomely fields that perish there:
The stony fields of Lettermore
That drink the white Atlantic spray.

And men who starve on Lettermore,
Cursing the haggard, hungry surf,
Will souse the autumn's bruiséd grains
To light dark fires within their brains
And fight with stones on Lettermore
Or sprawl beside the smoky turf.

When spring blows over Lettermore
To bloom the ragged furze with gold,
The lovely south wind's living breath
Is laden with the smell of death:
For fever breeds on Lettermore
To waste the eyes of young and old.

A black van comes to Lettermore;
The horses stumble on the stones,
The drivers curse, - for it is har...

Francis Brett Young

By Ana Liffey (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    If you come to live with me,
    I will sing so heartily
    In your honour that you will
    Stay to wonder at my skill.

    In your honour I will fill
    The world with songs of triumph, till
    You and I and Time are old
    Pipers of the Age of Gold.

    Time and you and I will hold,
    Everywhere by field and fold,
    Concerts of content, and be
    Known afar for jollity.

    Everywhere by fold and field
    We will wander well-agreed;
    So I sing right heartily,
    Come along and live with me.

James Stephens

To Ireland In The Coming Times

Know, that I would accounted be
True brother of a company
That 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 clan,
Trails all about the written page.
When Time began to rant and rage
The measure of her flying feet
Made Ireland's heart begin to beat;
And Time bade all his candles flare
To light a measure here and there;
And may the thoughts of Ireland brood
Upon a measured quietude.
Nor may I less be counted one
With Davis, Mangan, Ferguson,
Because, to him who ponders well,
My rhymes more than their rhyming tell
Of things discovered in the deep,
Where only body's laid asleep.
For the elemental c...

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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

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