Poems by Clinton Scollard

The gray winds call o'er Carrowmore,
Call in the white of the dawn,
And the grasses sigh o'er...

Here's a hail, O brown cicada, tuning
In the golden heat,
O'er the thrush's plaint, the cuc...

I have dreams of the outer islands,
Firths and forths of the Far-Away;
I have dreams of the h...

Gold of the daffodil, drawn
Out of the cup of the dawn,
Gold of the daffodil, born
In the b...

Abbeydorney, Abbeydorney,
Long ago thy race was run,
Prone thou art 'mid thickets thorny,
...

Cleavage of sea and sky,
Ever elusive line,
Though I follow it far,
Far as the Ultimate Isl...

Tell me where goes
The wraith that was the rose,
Or lily, dight
With delicate delight! ...

I heard the lyric passion in the night,
And felt my pulses leap as to a tune
Played upon pipes...

Built upon a most mysterious plan,
There is an inn we call The Heart of Man.
And through the d...

In the lyric tide of April, in the month of daffodils,
In the gush of the gold of morning I ca...

I This is the hill of Maeve, the queen,
A mighty bulwark of gray-green Whereon was se...

Out of the mist off Galway shore,
Out of the morning mist,
Rose the island of Hy Brasail
Wit...

I walk darkly down the day,
Sanguine, and yet never sure
If the noon's abundant ray
In its b...

The lovely Lady Blanchiflore
Had scores of lovers fain and fond;
They flocked to bow her feet ...

Oh, the little creek Coonana,
How clear it runs and cold
Where "Conn of the hundred battles"
...