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 ...
O stony grey soil of Monaghan The laugh from my love you thieved; You took the gay child of my ...
Every old man I see Reminds me of my father When he had fallen in love with death One time ...
We have tested and tasted too much, lover- Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder. But here ...
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