White Fields (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    In the winter children go
    Walking in the fields of snow
    Where there is no grass at all,
    And the top of every wall,
    Every fence, and every tree
    Is as white as white can be.

    Pointing out the way they came,
    (Every one of them the same)
    All across the fields there be
    Prints in silver filigree;
    And their mothers find them so
    By the footprints in the snow.

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

Charlotte Street (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

Holles Street (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

The Patriot's Bed (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

O'Connell Bridge (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.

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

The Bare Trees (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    Unfortunates, on the bare tree!
    I mourn for ye
    That have no place to house,
    But on those winter-white cold boughs
        To sit,
        (How far apart ye sit)
    And brood
    In this wide, wintry solitude
        That has no song at all to hearten it.

    Fly away, little birds!
        Fly away to Spain,
    Stay there all the winter
        Then come back again;
    Come back in the summer
        When the leaves are thick;
    Little weeny cold birds
        Fly away quick.

James Stephens

Portobello Bridge (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    Silver stars shine peacefully,
    The Canal is silver, the
    Poplars bear with modest grace
    Gossamers of silver lace,
    And the turf bank wears with glee
    Black and silver filigree.

James Stephens

O'Connell Bridge (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

    In Dublin town the people see
    Gorgeous clouds sail gorgeously,
    They are finer, I declare,
    Than the clouds of anywhere.

    A swirl of blue and red and green,
    A stream of blinding gold, a sheen
    From silver hill and pearly ridge
    Comes each evening on the bridge.

    So when you walk in a field, look down,
    Lest you tramp on a daisy's crown,
    But in a city look always high
    And watch the beautiful clouds go by.

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