And sometimes I am sorry when the grass
Is growing over the stones in quiet hollows
And the cocksfoot leans across the rutted cart-pass
That I am not the voice of country fellows
Who now are standing by some headland talking
Of turnips and potatoes or young corn
Of turf banks stripped for victory.
Here Peace is still hawking
His coloured combs and scarves and beads of horn.
Upon a headland by a whinny hedge
A hare sits looking down a leaf-lapped furrow
There's an old plough upside-down on a weedy ridge
And someone is shouldering home a saddle-harrow.
Out of that childhood country what fools climb
To fight with tyrants Love and Life and Time?
Submitted by Andrew Mayers
Patrick Kavanagh's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Peace by Patrick Kavanagh )
- sterilization process of our modern system, Anthony Cavuoti
- Kopje onder, Madrason writer
- five past three, Pradip Chattopadhyay
- Trapdoor, Pradip Chattopadhyay
- Gans Veer, Madrason writer
- Be What You Are, Lilly Emery
- The abrupt end., Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- Native land., Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- Believe in Yourself Worth, Lilly Emery
- Odd One Out, Nalini Jyotsana Chaturvedi
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