A. Norman Jeffares

in Dublin, Ireland
August 11, 1920

June 01, 2005


Alexander Norman Jeffares, AM (August 11, 1920 – June 1, 2005) was an Irish literary scholar.

Jeffares was born in Dublin, educated at Dublin High School, Trinity College, Dublin and Oriel College, Oxford. He took up his first academic appointment at the University of Groningen in 1947 and then moved to the University of Edinburgh in 1948. At the very early age of 30 he was then appointed to the Jury Chair of English at the University of Adelaide where he stayed for 17 years. He then returned to the Chair of English at the University of Leeds before finally moving to the University of Stirling in 1974.

He retired as Emeritus Professor of English in 1985.

Average rating: 3.91 · 725 ratings · 62 reviews · 144 distinct worksSimilar authors
Ireland's Love Poems

4.08 avg rating — 39 ratings — published 1997 — 3 editions
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York Notes on The Thirty-Ni...

3.67 avg rating — 21 ratings — published 1980
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James Joyce: The Poems in V...

4.18 avg rating — 17 ratings — published 1992
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W.B. Yeats: A New Biography

really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 24 ratings — published 1988 — 9 editions
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York Notes on "The Handmaid...

3.91 avg rating — 11 ratings — published 1994
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York Notes Wide Sargasso Sea

4.11 avg rating — 9 ratings — published 1995
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York Notes on "Lord of the ...

4.13 avg rating — 8 ratings — published 1988
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Commentary On the Collected...

4.44 avg rating — 9 ratings — published 1968 — 3 editions
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Ernest Hemingway, "For Whom...

really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 7 ratings — published 1981
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Letters to W.B. Yeats and E...

4.60 avg rating — 5 ratings — published 2004
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More books by A. Norman Jeffares…
“How beautiful, how beautiful you streamed upon my sight, In glory and in grandeur, as a gorgeous sunset-light!
How softly, soul-subduing, fell your words upon mine ear, Like low aerial music when some angel hovers near!
What tremulous, faint ecstasy to clasp your hand in mine, Till the darkness fell upon me of a glory too divine!
The air around grew languid with our intermingled breath, And in your beauty's shadow I sank motionless as death.
I saw you not, I heard not, for a mist was on my brain--I only felt that life could give no joy like that again.

And this was love--I knew it not, but blindly floated on, And now I'm on the ocean waste, dark, desolate, alone;
The waves are raging round me-- I'm reckless where they guide; No hope is left to lighten me, no strength to stem the tide.
As a leaf along the torrent, a cloud across the sky, As dust upon the whirlwind, so my life is drifting by. The dream that drank the meteor's light--the form from Heav'n has flown--
The vision and the glory, they are passing--they are gone.
Oh! Love is frantic agony, and life one throb of pain; Yet I would bear its darkest woes to dream again.”
A. Norman Jeffares, Ireland's Love Poems

“How far apart are she and I!
I and the lady of my heart;
I yearn in love; she passes by
Too proud one kind word to impart.

For she left me here to moan,
Gold set her fragile thought astray;
But, came she in her shift along,
I'd take her to my heart today.

How lightly on her spirit lies
The love that crushes my poor heart!
And, ah, she mocks my miseries
How far are she and I apart!”
A. Norman Jeffares, Ireland's Love Poems

“I am desolate,
Bereft by bitter fate;
No cure beneath the skies can save me,
No cure on sea or strand,
Nor in any human hand--
But hers, this paining wound who gave me.

I know not night from day,
Nor thrush from cuckoo grey,
Nor cloud from the sun that shines above thee--
Nor freezing cold from heat,
Nor friend--if friend I meet--
I but know--heart's love--I love thee.

Love that my life began,
Love, that will close life's plan
Love that grows ever by love-giving:
Love, from the first to last,
Love, till all life be passed,
Love that loves on after living!

This love I gave to thee,
For pain love has given me,
Love that can fail or falter never--
But, spite of earth above,
Guards thee, my Flower of love,
Thou marvel-maid of life for ever.

Bear all things evidence,
Thou art my very sense,
My past, my present, and my morrow!
All else on earth is crossed,
All in the world is lost--
Lost all-- but the great love-gift of sorrow.

My life not life, but a death;
My voice not voice--a breath;
No sleep, no quiet-- thinking ever
On thy fair phantom face,
Queen eyes and royal grace,
Lost loveliness that leaves me never.

I pray thee grant but this--
From thy dear mouth one kiss,
That the pang of death-despair pass over:
Or bid make ready nigh
The place where I shall lie,
For aye, thy leal and silent lover.”
A. Norman Jeffares, Ireland's Love Poems