Creatures of Impulse

Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
Cover of the book Creatures of Impulse by Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse, Library of Alexandria
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Author: Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse ISBN: 9781465540232
Publisher: Library of Alexandria Publication: March 8, 2015
Imprint: Language: English
Author: Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
ISBN: 9781465540232
Publisher: Library of Alexandria
Publication: March 8, 2015
Imprint:
Language: English
THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS (1899) THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE THE host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na bare; Caolte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling Away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream. The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam, Our arms are waving, our lips are apart; And if any gaze on our rushing band, We come between him and the deed of his hand, We come between him and the hope of his heart. The host is rushing ’twixt night and day, And where is there hope or deed as fair? Caolte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away. THE EVERLASTING VOICES O SWEET everlasting Voices, be still; Go to the guards of the heavenly fold And bid them wander obeying your will Flame under flame, till Time be no more; Have you not heard that our hearts are old, That you call in birds, in wind on the hill, In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore? O sweet everlasting Voices, be still
View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart
THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS (1899) THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE THE host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na bare; Caolte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling Away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream. The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam, Our arms are waving, our lips are apart; And if any gaze on our rushing band, We come between him and the deed of his hand, We come between him and the hope of his heart. The host is rushing ’twixt night and day, And where is there hope or deed as fair? Caolte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away. THE EVERLASTING VOICES O SWEET everlasting Voices, be still; Go to the guards of the heavenly fold And bid them wander obeying your will Flame under flame, till Time be no more; Have you not heard that our hearts are old, That you call in birds, in wind on the hill, In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore? O sweet everlasting Voices, be still

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