Patrick Kavanagh

Все, что создано умом,
Все, к чему душа стремится,
Как янтарь на дне морском,
В книгах бережно хранится

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of th...

Upon a bank I sat, a child made
Of one small primrose flowering in my mind
Better than wealth it is,
I said, to

We are the children of light, Wise, not companioned By goats In a condemned graveyard
Backward blowing Blizzards of memory Flatten out The genealogies
But here a point, The objective essence We work in
We shall not drink from the st...

I do not think of you lying in the wet
Of a Monaghan graveyard;
I
You walking down a lane among the

I have lived in important places,
When great events were decided, who
That half a rood of rock, a no-man's
Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims

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