The Shadow (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    Silence comes upon the night,
        Gone is all the cheerful day,
    The moon has disappeared from sight,
        Every star has gone away.

    Sinking through the void, and thence
        Disappearing, star and sky,
    In the stern and black immense
        That has blinded every eye.

    Silence crouches on the land,
        In the street a shadow lies
    Cloaked in velvet wrappings, and
        With a mask upon her eyes.

    Anonymous and terrible
        Mother of the primal ray,
    Only night because thou art
        In thyself excess of day.

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

Mary Hynes

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

The White Window (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

The Cow (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

William O'Kelly

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

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

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

Check (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

    The night was creeping on the ground;
    She crept and did not make a sound
    Until she reached the tree, and then
    She covered it, and stole again
    Along the grass beside the wall.

    I heard the rustle of her shawl
    As she threw blackness everywhere
    Upon the sky and ground and air,
    And in the room where I was hid:
    But no matter what she did
    To everything that was without,
    She could not put my candle out.

    So I stared at the night, and she
    Stared back solemnly at me.

James Stephens

Nightpiece

Gaunt in gloom,
The pale stars their torches,
Enshrouded, wave.
Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume,
Arches on soaring arches,
Night's sindark nave.

Seraphim,
The lost hosts awaken
To service till
In moonless gloom each lapses muted, dim,
Raised when she has and shaken
Her thurible.

And long and loud,
To night's nave upsoaring,
A starknell tolls
As the bleak incense surges, cloud on cloud,
Voidward from the adoring
Waste of souls.

James Joyce

Moonlight

As a pale phantom with a lamp
    Ascends some ruin's haunted stair,
So glides the moon along the damp
    Mysterious chambers of the air.

Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed,
    As if this phantom, full of pain,
Were by the crumbling walls concealed,
    And at the windows seen again.

Until at last, serene and proud
    In all the splendor of her light,
She walks the terraces of cloud,
    Supreme as Empress of the Night.

I look, but recognize no more
    Objects familiar to my view;
The very pathway to my door
    Is an enchanted avenue.

All things are changed.    One mass of shade,
    The elm-trees drop their curtains down;
By palace, park, and colonnade
    I walk as in a foreign town.

The very ground b...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow