Stony Grey Soil
O stony grey soil of
The laugh from my love you thieved;
You took the gay child of my
And gave me your clod-conceived. You clogged the feet of my
And I believed that my
Had the poise and stride of
And his voice my thick tongued mumble.
You told me the plough was immortal!
O green-life conquering plough!
The mandril stained, your coulter
In the smooth lea-field of my brow.
You sang on steaming dunghillsA song of cowards' brood,
You perfumed my clothes with weasel itch,
You fed me on swinish
You flung a ditch on my
Of beauty, love and truth.
O stony grey soil of
You burgled my bank of youth!
Lost the long hours of
All the women that love young men.
O can I still stroke the monster's
Or write with unpoisoned pen.
His name in these lonely
Or mention the dark fields
The first gay flight of my
Got caught in a peasant's prayer.
Mullahinsa,
Drummeril,
Black Shanco-Wherever I turn I
In the stony grey soil of
Dead loves that were born for me.
Patrick Kavanagh
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Primrose
Upon a bank I sat, a child made Of one small primrose flowering in my mind Better than wealth it is, I said, to
Memory of my Father
Every old man I Reminds me of my When he had fallen in love with One time when sheaves were gathered
Kerrs Ass
We borrowed the loan of Kerr's To go to Dundalk with butter, Brought him home the evening before the And exile that night in Mucker
Having To Live in the Country
Back once again in wild, wet Monaghan Exiled from thought and feeling, A mean brutality reigns: It is really a horrible position to be in And I equate myself with Dante And all who have lived outside civilization It isn't a question...
