A city built upon mud; A culture built upon profit; Free speech nipped in the bud, The minority always guilty. Why should I want to go back To you, Ireland, my Ireland? — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
September has come, it is hers Whose vitality leaps in the autumn, Whose nature prefers Trees without leaves and a fire in the fireplace. So I give her this month and the next Though the whole of my year should… — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
World is crazier and more of it than we think, Incorrigibly plural. — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
“Bagpipe Music' It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw, All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.… — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me, otherwise kill me. — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
“Thus were we weaned to knowledge of the Will That wills the natural world, but wills us dead.” — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
“If war is the test of reality, then all poetry is unreal; but in that case unreality is a virtue.” — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
“If war is the test of reality, than all poetry is unreal; but in that case unreality is a virtue.” — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
Why do we like being Irish? Partly because It gives us a hold on the sentimental English As members of a world that never… — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
A city built upon mud; A culture built upon profit; Free speech nipped in the bud, The minority always guilty. Why should I want… — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
“Cradle Song for Eleanor”: Sleep, my darling, sleep; The pity of it all Is all we compass if We watch disaster fall. Put off… — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
I was the rector's son, born to the anglican order, Banned for ever from the candles of the Irish poor; The Chichesters knelt in… — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
