On An Apple-Ripe September Morning (Patrick Kavanagh Poems)
On an apple-ripe September morningThrough the mist-chill fields I wentWith a pitch-fork on my shoulderLess for use than for devilment.The ...
On an apple-ripe September morningThrough the mist-chill fields I wentWith a pitch-fork on my shoulderLess for use than for devilment.The ...
Now what do you want to be playing about for,Reefing and reaching your head for the bit?This is the gentlest ...
And sometimes I am sorry when the grass Is growing over the stones in quiet hollows And the cocksfoot leans ...
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