The Wood Of Flowers (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

    I went to the Wood of Flowers
        (No one was with me);
    I was there alone for hours.
        I was happy as could be
    In the Wood of Flowers.

    There was grass on the ground,
        There were buds on the tree,
    And the wind had a sound
        Of such gaiety,
    That I was as happy
        As happy could be,
    In the Wood of Flowers.

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 Shadow (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

Deirdre

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

The Horse (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

The College Of Science (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

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.

In Woods And Meadows

Play to the tender stops, though cheerily:
Gently, my soul, my song: let no one hear:
Sing to thyself alone; thine ecstasy
Rising in silence to the inward ear
That is attuned to silence: do not tell
A friend, a bird, a star, lest they should say -
He danced in woods and meadows all the day,
Waving his arms, and cried as evening fell,
'O, do not come,' and cried, 'O, come, thou queen,
And walk with me unwatched upon the green
    Under the sky.'

James Stephens

The Daisies

In the scented bud of the morning - O,
When the windy grass went rippling far,
I saw my dear one walking slow
In the field where the daisies are.

We did not laugh and we did not speak
As we wandered happily to and fro;
I kissed my dear on either cheek
In the bud of the morning - O.

A lark sang up from the breezy land,
A lark sang down from a cloud afar,
And she and I went hand in hand
In the field where the daisies are.

James Stephens

The Old Man (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

    An old man sat beneath a tree
        Alone;
    So still was he
        That, if he had been carved in stone,
    He could not be
        More quiet or more cold:
    He was an ancient man
        More than
    A thousand ages old.

James Stephens

Day And Night (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

    When the bright eyes of the day
        Open on the dusk, to see
    Mist and shadow fade away
        And the sun shine merrily,
    Then I leave my bed and run
    Out to frolic in the sun.

    Through the sunny hours I play
        Where the stream is wandering,
    Plucking daisies by the way;
        And I laugh and dance and sing,
    While the birds fly here and there
    Singing on the sunny air.

    When the night comes, cold and slow,
        And the sad moon walks the sky,
    When the whispering wind says "Boh,
        Little boy!" and makes me cry,
    By my mother I am led
    Home again and put to bed.

James Stephens

The Wood Anemone

The thorn-tree waved a bough of May
And all its branches bent
To indicate the wildwood way
The Wind and Sunbeam went.

A wildrose here, a wildrose there
Lifted appealing eyes,
And looked the path they did not dare
Reveal in other wise.

Wild parsley tossed a plume of gold
And breathed so sweet a sigh,
I guessed the way, it never told,
Which they had hastened by.

I traced the Beam, so swift and white,
In many a woodland place
By wildflower footprints of its flight
And gleamings of its grace.

I knew its joy had filled with song
The high heart of the bird,
That rippled, rippled all day long
In dells that hushed and heard.

I knew the Wind with flashing feet
Had charmed the brook withal,
Who in its cascades ...

Madison Julius Cawein

A Visit From Abroad (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

    A speck went blowing up against the sky
        As little as a leaf: then it drew near
    And broadened. "It's a bird," said I,
        And fetched my bow and arrows. It was queer!
    It grew up from a speck into a blot,
    And squattered past a cloud; then it flew down
    All crumply, and waggled such a lot
        I thought the thing would fall., It was a brown
    Old carpet where a man was sitting snug
        Who, when he reached the ground, began to sew
    A big hole in the middle of the rug,
        And kept on peeping everywhere to know
    Who might be coming, then he gave a twist
        And flew away....    I fired at him but missed.

James Stephens