April Dusk (Patrick Kavanagh Poems)
April dusk It is tragic to be a poet now And not a lover Paradised under the mutest bough. I look through my window ...
April dusk It is tragic to be a poet now And not a lover Paradised under the mutest bough. I look through my window ...
They laughed at one I loved-The triangular hill that hungUnder the Big Forth. They saidThat I was bounded by the ...
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