Author: Eavan Boland

Here is the city- Its worn-down mountains, Its grass and iron, Its smoky coast Seen from the high roads On […]

Flesh is heretic. My body is a witch. I am burning it. Yes I am torching Ber curves and paps […]

It was the first gift he ever gave her, Buying it for five five francs in the Galeries In pre-war […]

These are outsiders, always. These stars- These iron inklings of an Irish January, Whose light happened Thousands of years before […]

After the wolves and before the elms The bardic order ended in Ireland. Only a few remained to continue A […]

This harbour was made by art and force. And called Kingstown and afterwards Dun Laoghaire. And holds the sea behind […]