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Insurrections

I saw God. Do you doubt it?

Do you dare to doubt it?

I saw the Almighty Man. His hand

Was resting on a mountain, and

He looked upon the World and all about it:

I saw Him plainer than you see me now,

You mustn't doubt it.

He was not satisfied;

James Stephens

The Shell

AND then I pressed the shell

Close to my ear

And listened well,

And straightway like a bell

Came low and clear

The slow, sad murmur of the distant seas,

Whipped by an icy breeze

Upon a shore

James Stephens

The Spring In Ireland: 1916

Do not forget my charge I beg of you ;

That of what flow'rs you find of fairest hue

And sweetest odor you do gather those

Are best of all the best — a fragrant rose,

A tall calm lily from the waterside,

A half-blown poppy leaning at the side

Its graceful head to dream among the corn,

James Stephens

When the Leaves Fall

WHEN the leaves fall off the trees

Everybody walks on them :

Once they had a time of ease

High above, and every breeze

Used to stay and talk to them.

Then they were so debonair

As they fluttered up and down ;

Dancing in the sunny air,

James Stephens

Righteous Anger

THE lanky hank of a she in the inn over there

Nearly killed me for asking the loan of a glass of beer:

May the devil grip the whey-faced slut by the hair,

And beat bad manners out of her skin for a year.

That parboiled imp, with the hardest jaw you will see

On virtue’s path, and a voice that would rasp the dead,

Came roaring and raging the minute she looked on me,

James Stephens

A Visit from Abroad

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

James Stephens

Westland Row

Every Sunday there's a throng

Of pretty girls, who trot along

In a pious, breathless state

(They are nearly always late)

To the Chapel, where they pray

For the sins of Saturday.

They have frocks of white and blue,

Yellow sashes they have too,

James Stephens

The Fifteen Acres

I cling and swing

On a branch, or sing

Through the cool, clear hush of Morning, O!

Or fling my wing

On the air, and bring

To sleepier birds a warning, O!

That the night's in flight,

James Stephens

The Turn of the Road

I was playing with my hoop along the road

Just where the bushes are, when, suddenly,

There came a shout, -- I ran away and stowed

Myself beneath a bush, and watched to see

What made the noise, and then, around the bend,

I saw a woman running. She was old

And wrinkle-faced, and had big teeth. -- The end

Of her red shawl caught on a bush and rolled

James Stephens

The Coolun

Come with me, under my coat,

And we will drink our fill

Of the milk of the white goat,

Or wine, if it be thy will;

And we will talk until

Talk is a truble, too,

Out in the side of the hill,

And nothing is left to do,

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,

James Stephens

Check

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 sole 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,

James Stephens