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my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where 
turned at his glance to shining here; 
that if(so timid air is firm) 
under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which 
floats the first who,his april touch 
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates 
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep 
my father's fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry 
for he could feel the mountains grow.

Lifting the valleys of the sea 
my father moved through griefs of joy; 
praising a forehead called the moon 
singing desire into begin [...]

[1 2 3]

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot […]

[4 5 6]

Her image accompanied me even in places the most hostile to romance. 
On Saturday evenings when my aunt went marketing I had to go to carry some 
of the parcels. We walked through the flaring streets, jostled by drunken 
men and bargaining women, amid the curses of labourers, the shrill litanies 
of shop-boys who stood on guard by the barrels of pigs' cheeks, the nasal 
chanting of street-singers, who sang a come-all-you about O'Donovan Rossa, 
or a ballad about the troubles in our native land. These noises converged 
in a single sensation of life for me: I imagined that I bore my chalice 
safely through a throng of foes. Her name sprang to my lips at moments in 
strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were 
often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my 
heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little of the 
future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I 
spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body 
was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon 
the wires. [...]