Katharine Tynan

[Katharine Tynan Hinkson, Katharine Tynan-Hinkson, Katharine Hinkson-Tynan] (23 January 1861 - 2 Apirl 1931 / 23 January 1861 – 2 April 1931)

Katharine Tynan Poems

121. The Broken Soldier 4/14/2010
122. Flower Of Youth 4/14/2010
123. Wild Geese 4/14/2010
124. A Colloquy: (For M. W.) 4/14/2010
125. Wings In The Night 4/14/2010
126. All Souls 4/14/2010
127. Immortality 1/3/2003
128. A Connaught Man (For Hugh Maguire) 4/14/2010
129. Autumnal 4/14/2010
130. Comfort 4/14/2010
131. Winter Sunset 4/14/2010
132. St. Francis And The Birds 1/3/2003
133. Christmas In The Year Of The War 4/14/2010
134. Colours 4/14/2010
135. After Ascension 4/14/2010
136. Dead- A Prisoner 4/14/2010
137. The End Of The Day 1/3/2003
138. Adveniat Regnum Tuum 1/3/2003
139. A Birth-Night Song 4/14/2010
140. A Prayer { For Those Who Shall Return} 4/14/2010
141. Joining The Colours 4/14/2010
142. Any Mother 4/14/2010
143. The Foggy Dew 1/3/2003
144. A Song Of Going 4/14/2010
145. The Children Of Lir 1/3/2003
146. A Holy Week Song, 1918 4/14/2010
147. A Hero 4/14/2010
148. Sheep And Lambs 1/3/2003
149. A Song For The New Year {1915} 4/14/2010
150. The Doves 1/3/2003
151. A Gardener-Sage 1/3/2003
152. A Woman Commends Her Little Son 4/14/2010
153. A Girl's Song 4/14/2010
154. A Lament 4/14/2010
155. Alienation 4/14/2010
156. The Wind That Shakes The Barley 1/3/2003
157. Blessings 1/3/2003
158. Quiet Eyes 4/14/2010
159. Any Woman 1/3/2003
160. A Song Of Spring 4/14/2010
Best Poem of Katharine Tynan

A Song Of Spring

The Spring comes slowly up this way,
Slowly, slowly,
Under a snood of hodden grey.

The black and white for her array,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.

Where is her green that was so gay?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.

Unto a world too sick for May,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.

Where are the lads that used to play?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.

She has no heart for holiday,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.

The ...

Read the full of A Song Of Spring

Nymphs

Where are ye now, O beautiful girls of the mountain,
Oreads all ?
Nothing at all stirs here save the drip of the fountain;
Answers our call
Only the heart-glad thrush, in the Vale of Thrushes;
Stirs in the brake
But the dew-bright ear of the hare in his couch of rushes
Listening, awake.

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