Dora Sigerson Shorter

Dora Sigerson Shorter was an Irish poet and sculptor born in Dublin in 1866. She was one of the leading figures of the Irish Literary Revival, a movement that aimed to promote Irish literature and culture in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. She was also a close friend of W.B. Yeats and married the writer and journalist Clement King Shorter. Dora's work often dealt with themes of Irish nationalism and folklore, and she published several volumes of poetry before her untimely death in 1918.

August 16, 1866

January 6, 1918

English

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The Priests Brother

Thrice in the night the priest arose
From broken sleep to kneel and pray.
Hush, poor ghost, till the red cock crows,
And I a Mass for your soul may say.

Thrice he went to the chamber cold,
Where, stiff and still uncoffinèd,
His brother lay, his beads he told,
And Rest, poor spirit, rest, he said.

Thrice lay the old priest down to sleep
Before the morning bell should toll;
But still he heard-and woke to weep-
The crying of his brothers soul.

All through the dark, till dawn was pale,
The priest tossed in his misery,
With muffled ears to hide the wail,
The voice of that ghosts agony.

At last the red cock flaps his wings
To trumpet of a day new-born.
The lark, awaking, soaring sings
Into the bosom of the morn.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

The Rape Of The Barons Wine

Who was stealing the Barons wine,
Golden sherry and port so old,
Precious, I wot, as drops of gold?
Lone to-night he came to dine,

Flung himself in his oaken chair,
Kicked the hound that whined for bread;
God! the thief shall swing! he said,
Thrust his hand through his ruffled hair.

Bolt and bar and double chain
Held secure the cellar door;
And the watchman placed before,
Kept a faithful watch in vain.

Every day the story came,
Master, come!    I hear it drip!
The wine is wet on the robbers lip,
Who the robber, none could name.

All the folk in County Clare
Found a task for every day
By the Barons gate to stray,
Came to gossip, stayed to stare.

Nothing here to satisfy
Souls for tragedy awake;
Ju...

Dora Sigerson Shorter

The Scallop Shell

A scallop shell, loosed by the lifting tide,
        Had left a friendly shore, the seas to brave;
Its lips of pink and snowy hollow shone
        Pure in the sun, a pearl upon the wave.

It gleamed and passed-you burdened it with love,
        With sweet long futures, new and dreamy days:
And named for me-because I held your hopes.
        I bid you hush-not meriting your praise.

I pointed, where your vessel came to shore,
        Wrecked where the tiny breakers rose and fell;
And bid your voyagers not put to sea
        So fail a craft as this poor scallop shell.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

The Skeleton In The Cupboard

Just this one day in all the year
Let all be one, let all be dear;
Wife, husband, child in fond embrace,
And thrust the phantom from its place.
No bitter words, no frowning brow,
Disturb the Christmas festal, now
The skeletons behind the door.

Nor let the child, with looks askance,
Find out its sad inheritance
From souls that held no happiness,
Of home, where love is seldom guest;
But in his coming years retain
This one sweet night that had no pain;
The skeletons behind the door.

In vain you raise the wassail bowl,
And pledge your passion, soul to soul.
You hear the sweet bells ring in rhyme,
You wreath the room for Christmas time
In vain.    The solemn silence falls,
The death watch ticks within the walls;
The skeleton taps o...

Dora Sigerson Shorter

The Suicides Grave

This is the scene of a mans despair, and a souls release
From the difficult traits of the flesh; so, it seeking peace,
A shot rang out in the night; deaths doors were wide;
And you stood alone, a stranger, and saw inside.

Coward flesh, brave soul, which was it?    One feared the world,
The pity of men, or their scorn; yet carelessly hurled
All on the balance of Chance for a state unknown;
Fled the laughter of men for the anger of God-alone.

Perhaps when the hot blood streamed on the daisied sod,
Poor soul, you were likened to Cain, and you fled from God;
Men say you fought hard for your life, when the deed was done;
But your body would rise no more neath this worlds sun.

Id choose-should I do the act-such a night as this,
When the sea throws up white ...

Dora Sigerson Shorter

The Wreckage

Love lit a beacon in thine eyes,
        And I out in the storm,
And lo! the night had taken wings;
        I dream me safe and warm.

Love lit a beacon in thine eyes,
        A wreckers light for me;
My heart is broken on the rocks;
        I perish in the sea.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

Unknown Ideal

Whose is the voice that will not let me rest?
        I hear it speak.
Where is the shore will gratify my quest,
        Show what I seek?
Not yours, weak Muse, to mimic that far voice,
        With halting tongue;
No peace, sweet land, to bid my heart rejoice
        Your groves among.

Whose is the loveliness I know is by,
        Yet cannot place?
Is it perfection of the sea or sky,
        Or human face?
Not yours, my pencil, to delineate
        The splendid smile!
Blind in the sun, we struggle on with Fate
        That glows the while.

Whose are the feet that pass me, echoing
        On unknown ways?
Whose are the lips that only part to sing
        Through all my days?
Not yours, fond youth, to fill mine eager eyes
  ...

Dora Sigerson Shorter

Vale

Good-bye, sweet friend, good-bye,
And all the world must be
Between my friend and me;
And nothing is, dear heart,
But hands that meet to part;
Good-bye, sweet friend, good-bye.

Good-bye, sweet love, good-bye,
And one long grave must be
Between my love and me;
What comfort there, dear heart,
For hands that meet to part?
Good-bye, sweet love, good-bye.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

What Will You Give?

What will you give me, if I will wed?
        A golden gown
        To come sweetly down,
And deck you from foot to head.

How will you keep me, if I am cold?
        By a heart so warm,
        The bravest storm
Dare not force through my strong hands hold.

How will you please me, if I should thirst?
        Why by the rape
        Of the purple grape,
Which the summer and sun have nursed.

If I should hunger what may I eat?
        For you the skies
        The falcon flies,
And the hounds on the stag are fleet.

How can you comfort when fair youth dies,
        When the spirits fain
        For a purer gain,
Than the satisfied flesh supplies?

But this I promise, when starved and cold
        A lo...

Dora Sigerson Shorter

When The Dark Comes

When the dark comes,
Is this the end? I pray,
No answer from the night,
And then once more the day.
I take the world again
Upon my neck and go
Pace with the serious hours.
Since fate will have it so,
Begone dead man, unclasp
Your hands from round my heart,
I and my burden pass,
You and your peace depart.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

When You Are On The Sea

How can I laugh or dance as others do,
        Or ply my rock or reel?
My heart will still return to dreams of you
        Beside my spinning-wheel.

My little dog he cried out in the dark,
        He would not whisht for me:
I took him to my side-why did he bark
        When you were on the sea?

I fear the red cock-if he crow to-night-
        I keep him close and warm,
Twere ill with me, if he should wake in fright
        And you out in the storm.

I dare not smile for fear my laugh would ring
        Across your dying ears;
O, if you, drifting, drowned, should hear me sing
        And think I had not tears.

I never thought the sea could wake such waves,
        Nor that such winds could be;
I never wept when other eyes grew...

Dora Sigerson Shorter

Wirastrua

Wirastrua, wirastrua, woe to me that you are dead!
The corpse has spoken from out his bed,
Yesternight my burning brain
Throbbed and beat on the strings of pain:
Now I rest, all my dreamings done,
In the world behind the sun.
Yesterday I toiled full sore,
To-day I ride in a coach and four.
Yesternight in the streets I lay,
To-night with kings, and as good as they.
Wirastrua! wirastrua! would I were lying as cold as you.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

Wishes

I wish we could live as the flowers live,
        To breathe and to bloom in the summer and sun;
To slumber and sway in the heart of the night,
        And to die when our glory had done.

I wish we could love as the bees love,
        To rest or to roam without sorrow or sigh;
With laughter, when, after the wooer had won,
        Love flew with a whispered good-bye.

I wish we could die as the birds die,
        To fly and to fall when our beauty was best:
No trammels of time on the years of our face;
        And to leave but an empty nest.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

With A Rose

In the heart of a rose
        Lies the heart of a maid;
        If you be not afraid
You will wear it.    Who knows?

In the pink of its bloom,
        Lay your lips to her cheek;
        Since a rose cannot speak,
And you gain the perfume.

If the dews on the leaf
        Are the tears from her eyes;
        If she withers and dies,
Why, you have the belief,

That a rose cannot speak,
        Though the heart of a maid
        In its bosom must fade,
And with fading must break.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

You Will Not Come Again

The green has come to the leafless tree,
        The earth brings forth its grain;
The flower has come for the honey bee:
        You will not come again.

The birds have come to the empty nest,
        All winter full of rain;
So music has come where the silence was:
        You will not come again.

Love will come for the weak lambs cry;
        Alas for my hearts dull pain!
In the cycle of change I alone am lone:
        You will not come again.

Dora Sigerson Shorter

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