When I Was Young (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

    I will not know when I am dead
    If sun or moon is overhead;
    I'll stretch out flat without a sound
    Inside a box beneath the ground,
    And never rise again to see
    Branches lifting on a tree,
    Nor hear the song the finches sing
    In the spring.

    I'll not, while sunny ages go,
    Lift a hand or wag a toe;
    But in a wooden box will be
    Hidden for eternity
    From sea and sun, from sight and sound,
    From touch of people, voice of friend,
    From all that makes my heart to bound,
    Denying such an end:
    It is so strange, I wonder why
    People die!

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

Eileen, Diarmuid And Teig

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

O'Connell Bridge (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

The Horse (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

From Hawk And Kite (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.

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

Even So

The days go by, the days go by,
Sadly and wearily to die:
Each with its burden of small cares,
Each with its sad gift of gray hairs
For those who sit, like me, and sigh,
The days go by! The days go by!

Ah, nevermore on shining plumes,
Shedding a rain of rare perfumes
That men call memories, they are borne
As in lifes many-visioned morn,
When Love sang in the myrtle-blooms,
Ah, nevermore on shining plumes!

Where is my life? Where is my life?
The morning of my youth was rife
With promise of a golden day.
Where have my hopes gone? Where are they,
The passion and the splendid strife?
Where is my life? Where is my life?

My thoughts take hue from this wild day,
And, like the skies, are ashen gray;
The sharp rain, falling cons...

Victor James Daley

The Days go by

The days go by, the days go by,
Sadly and wearily to die:
Each with its burden of small cares,
Each with its sad gift of gray hairs
For those who sit, like me, and sigh,
The days go by! The days go by!
Ah, nevermore on shining plumes,
Shedding a rain of rare perfumes
That men call memories, they are borne
As in lifes many-visioned morn,
When Love sang in the myrtle-blooms,
Ah, nevermore on shining plumes!

Where is my life? Where is my life?
The morning of my youth was rife
With promise of a golden day.
Where have my hopes gone? Where are they,
The passion and the splendid strife?
Where is my life? Where is my life?

My thoughts take hue from this wild day,
And, like the skies, are ashen gray;
The sharp rain, falling constantly...

Victor James Daley

Samuel, Aged Nine Years.

They have left you, little Henry, but they have not left you lonely -
    Brothers' hearts so knit together could not, might not separate dwell.
Fain to seek you in the mansions far away - One lingered only
    To bid those behind farewell!

Gentle Boy! - His childlike nature in most guileless form was moulded,
    And it may be that his spirit woke in glory unaware,
Since so calmly he resigned it, with his hands still meekly folded,
    Having said his evening prayer.

Or - if conscious of that summons - "Speak, O Lord, Thy servant heareth" -
    As one said, whose name they gave him, might his willing answer be,
"Here am I" - like him replying - "At Thy gates my soul appeareth,
    For behold Thou calledst me!"

A deep silence - utter silence, on his earthly home...

Jean Ingelow

The Appointment (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

    Tree! you are years standing there,
        Gripping tight to the side of the hill,
    And your branches are spread on the air,
        While you stand so sad and so still,
            And you do not complain
            When you're wet with the rain,
        Though I think you have often been ill.

    I would like (but it could not be done,
        So you must not keep me to my word)
    To take you away when the sun
        Goes down, and the breezes are stirred,
            And hug you in bed
            With myself, till you said
    That to sleep on a hill was absurd.

    O beautiful tree! when the night
        Is dark, and the winds come and scold,
    I would love then to cuddle you tight,
        For I fear you will die of the co...

James Stephens