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 ...
UNCLE JIMOld Uncle Jim was as blind as a mole, But he could fiddle Virginia Reels, Till you felt the ...
1 A SONG of the good green grass! A song no more of the city streets; A song of farms-a ...
1 WEAPON, shapely, naked, wan! Head from the mother's bowels drawn! Wooded flesh and metal bone! limb only one, and ...
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