Patrick Kavanagh Poems
|1.||A Christmas Childhood||12/15/2014|
|2.||My Father Played The Melodeon||3/3/2015|
|3.||The Great Hunger||4/5/2010|
|9.||Having To Live In The Country||1/3/2003|
|10.||To The Man After The Harrow||1/3/2003|
|12.||Wet Evening In April||1/3/2003|
|15.||On An Apple-Ripe September Morning||1/3/2003|
|16.||Memory Of My Father||1/3/2003|
|18.||Canal Bank Walk||1/13/2003|
|19.||Stony Grey Soil||1/3/2003|
|22.||Inniskeen Road: July Evening||1/3/2003|
|23.||In Memory Of My Mother||1/3/2003|
|24.||On Raglan Road||1/3/2003|
On Raglan Road
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 the day.
On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.
I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign...
Upon a bank I sat, a child made seer
Of one small primrose flowering in my mind.
Better than wealth it is, I said, to find
One small page of Truth's manuscript made clear.
I looked at Christ transfigured without fear--
The light was very beautiful and kind,
And where the Holy Ghost in flame had signed
I read it through the lenses of a tear.
And then my sight grew dim, I could not see