Just click on the links. This old  anonymous poem translated from Gaelic is another beautiful Irish wedding poem. Menu. Durcan has one of the shortlisted entries in the current “A Poem for Ireland” contest, Making Love Outside Aras an Uachtarain, originally written in the 1970s. Literature. "Your eyes that once were never weary of mineAre bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids,Because our love is waning. Old bridges breaking between you and me. They say that her beauty Listen to Heaney’s rendition. Hertz gave us a brand-new Peugeot. With the Irish writer (to risk accusations of grand generalisation) so much an outsider already – in themes or in actuality – would any have dared to write the line “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” except as a parody? The truth of Love to life's own end, Irish poets do, of course, write love poems. Did you know that Saint Patrick was not an Irish man or the first to bring Christianity to Ireland? This is perhaps the best known of the quintet reproduced here, most likely because it was later famously put to song by the iconic Luke Kelly. They just do it in ways markedly different to summer’s days or red, red roses. . There is nothing to beat a man with a bit of jizz in him. Easy to turn at the kitchen floor, And for her wondrous curtains white, No sickness worse than secret loveIt's long, alas, since I pondered thatNo more delay; I now confessmy secret love, so slight and slim, I gave a love that I can't concealto her hooded hair, her shy intenther narrow brows, her blue-green eyesher even teeth and aspect soft, I gave as well - and so declare-my soul's love to her soft throather lovely voice, delicious lipssnowy bosom, pointed breast, And may not overlook, alas,my cloud-hid love for her body brighther trim straight foot, her slender sole,her languid laugh, her timid hand, Allow there was never known beforesuch a love as mine for herthere lives not, never did, nor will,one who more gravely stole my love, Do not torment me, ladyLet our purposes agreeYou are my spouse on this Fair Plainso let us embrace. Learn a little of the History of St Patrick. Why should I blame her that she filled my daysWith misery, or that she would of lateHave taught to ignorant men most violent ways,Or hurled the little streets upon the great. I first heard this, as I first experienced so many Heaney poems, through the soothing lilt of his own voice, during (I believe) John Kelly’s soaring radio RTE Radio 1 documentary series Professor Heaney, first broadcast last year. Is it all part of a whole? The island dreams under the dawnAnd great boughs drop tranquillity;The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,A parrot sways upon a tree…, I passed along the water's edge below the humid trees,My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my knees,My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs; and saw the moor-fowl paceAll dripping on a grassy slope, and saw them cease to chase…. “The Man with a Bit of Jizz in Him” is typical of Durcan: a snapshot of everyday moments, captured with precision and verisimilitude, scraping away the apparently banal to reveal its beauty. So many of these poems have first made themselves known to me in recent months and weeks. At the first filling-station he stopped My mother is asleep, And I am quite awake;My fortune is in my hand, And I am ready to go with you. I’d love to hear it. Spotless! It is this that gives my soul  All its joyous elation,  As I hear the sweet lark sing  In the clear air of the day. I owe it much.). But how naive and wrong could I have been? Enwrought with golden and silver light, While I recommend you have a look at our other Irish love poem page as well, the poems below should please almost everybody. Anonymous This 15/16th old Gaelic poem makes a very intimate Irish wedding poem. If you’re a young fellow, they give you a small car Last night she came to me,My dead love came in.So softly she cameThat her feet made no din.As she laid her hand on me,And this she did say:It will not be long, love,'Til our wedding day. In a three-star hotel in St-Paul-de-Vence. But the words are shadows and you cannot hear me. I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,And live alone in the bee-loud glade. I would spread the cloths under your feet: That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; Home. Yes, Yeats’s “He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven” is rightly regarded as one of the great love poems, but everyone already knows that and there’s little to be gained from adding those particular verses here. “St-Paul-de-Vence? Until you want to go back to Ireland.” ( Log Out /  My husband is a man – You walk away and I cannot follow, Published more than 20 years ago now, “Love” received some welcome attention in recent years since being one of a number of Eavan Boland poems to be added to Ireland’s school Leaving Cert syllabus. I have spread my dreams under your feet; I am ashamed to admit that I’ve read so little, and there is so much phenomenal poetry that goes unheralded. And by the way make sure to check out our links to wedding sayings, toasts and blessings at the end of the page. A post about Seamus Heaney’s favourite love poem a couple of Valentine’s Days ago (before Heaney’s all too untimely passing) received a bit of interest at the time, and a steady flow of visitors to the blog ever since. With hearts the year could but embolden, Below is a suitable collection of Celtic themed and Irish love poems and songs which should be right for most wedding ceremonies. This is by far my favourite of those. I said: “Down south – west Cork or Kerry.” I prefer this poem, published in one of his more recent collections, The Art of Life (2004), outlining the kind of tryst that is rarely documented in literature: that comfortable love between middle-aged married man and woman. The trees are in their autumn beauty,The woodland paths are dry,Under the October twilight the waterMirrors a still sky…, You say, as I have often given tongueIn praise of what another's said or sung…, When you are old and grey and full of sleep,And nodding by the fire, take down this book,And slowly read, and dream of the soft lookYour eyes had once, and of their shadows deep….

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