The Fur Coat (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    I walked out in my Coat of Pride,
    I looked about on every side,
    And said the mountains should not be
    Just where they were, and that the sea
    Was badly placed, and that the beech
    Should be an oak, and then from each
    I turned in dignity as if
    They were not there: I sniffed a sniff,
    And climbed upon my sunny shelf,
    And sneezed a while, and scratched myself.

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

Donnelly's Orchard (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

April Showers (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

Geoffrey Keating

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.

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

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

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

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

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

At The Fair (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    The lark shall never come to say
    To a gombeen-man, "Good day,"
    And the lark shall never cry
    To a kindly man, "Good-bye."

    See the greedy gombeen-man
    Taking everything he can
    From man and woman, dog and cat,
    And the lark does not like that.

James Stephens