March (Patrick Kavanagh Poems)
There's a wind blowing Cold through the corridors, A ghost-wind, The flapping of defeated wings, A hell-fantasy From meadows damned To eternal April And listening, listening To the ...
There's a wind blowing Cold through the corridors, A ghost-wind, The flapping of defeated wings, A hell-fantasy From meadows damned To eternal April And listening, listening To the ...
O stony grey soil of Monaghan The laugh from my love you thieved; You took the gay child of my ...
Upon a bank I sat, a child made seer Of one small primrose flowering in my mind. Better than wealth ...
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