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    Sixteen Poems
    Sixteen Poems
    Sixteen Poems
    Ebook60 pages29 minutes

    Sixteen Poems

    By W. B. (William Butler) Yeats and William Allingham

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Sixteen Poems

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      Book preview

      Sixteen Poems - W. B. (William Butler) Yeats

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sixteen Poems, by William Allingham

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Sixteen Poems

      Author: William Allingham

      Release Date: October 9, 2005 [EBook #16839]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIXTEEN POEMS ***

      Produced by David Starner, Sigal Alon and the Online

      Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

      SIXTEEN POEMS BY WILLIAM

      ALLINGHAM: SELECTED BY

      WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

      THE DUN EMER PRESS

      DUNDRUM

      MCMV

      CONTENTS.

      LET ME SING OF WHAT I KNOW

      A wild west Coast, a little Town,

      Where little Folk go up and down,

      Tides flow and winds blow:

      Night and Tempest and the Sea,

      Human Will and Human Fate:

      What is little, what is great?

      Howsoe'er the answer be,

      Let me sing of what I know.

      THE WINDING BANKS OF ERNE

      Adieu to Belashanny!

      where I was bred and born;

      Go where I may, I'll think of you,

      as sure as night and morn.

      The kindly spot, the friendly town,

      where every one is known,

      And not a face in all the place

      but partly seems my own;

      There's not a house or window,

      there's not a field or hill,

      But, east or west, in foreign lands,

      I'll recollect them still.

      I leave my warm heart with you,

      tho' my back I'm forced to turn—

      Adieu to Belashanny,

      and the winding banks of Erne!

      No more on pleasant evenings

      we'll saunter down the Mall,

      When the trout is rising to the fly,

      the salmon to the fall.

      The boat comes straining on her net,

      and heavily she creeps,

      Cast off, cast off—she feels the oars,

      and to her berth she sweeps;

      Now fore and aft keep hauling,

      and gathering up the clew,

      Till a silver wave of salmon

      rolls in among the crew.

      Then they may sit, with pipes a-lit,

      and many a

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