Patrick Kavanagh


They laughed at one I loved- The triangular hill that hung Under the Big Forth. They said That I was bounded by the whitethorn hedges Of the little farm and did not know the world. But I knew that love's doorway to life Is the same doorway everywhere. Ashamed of what I loved I flung her from me and called her a ditch Although she was smiling at me with violets. But now I am back in her briary arms The dew of an Indian Summer lies On bleached potato-stalks What age am I? I do not know what age I am, I am no mortal age; I know nothing of women, Nothing of cities, I cannot die Unless I walk outside these whitethorn hedges.

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