Patrick Kavanagh Poems
|1.||My Father Played The Melodeon||3/3/2015|
|2.||A Christmas Childhood||12/15/2014|
|3.||The Great Hunger||4/5/2010|
|9.||Having To Live In The Country||1/3/2003|
|10.||Wet Evening In April||1/3/2003|
|11.||To The Man After The Harrow||1/3/2003|
|15.||On An Apple-Ripe September Morning||1/3/2003|
|16.||Canal Bank Walk||1/13/2003|
|18.||Memory Of My Father||1/3/2003|
|20.||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...
I have lived in important places, times
When great events were decided, who owned
That half a rood of rock, a no-man's land
Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims.
I heard the Duffys shouting "Damn your soul!"
And old McCabe stripped to the waist, seen
Step the plot defying blue cast-steel -
"Here is the march along these iron stones."
That was the year of the Munich bother. Which