Quoting Kavanagh

Some day when all the shadows rise And beauty wanders free We too shall rove ‘neath laughing skies But now such cannot be. To a Distant Friend

A man is original when he speaks the truth. Signposts

The New Year’s unwritten page we view As a lea field to plough and sow;

In silver the wonder of a Christmas townland, The winking glitter of a frosty dawn. A Christmas Childhood

A score of grey ungrowthly stumps stand up Like an old graveyard in my mind: Dingle, Cooleen, A shadowed corner of St. Stephen’s Green… Love is But a Season

Won’t we be rich, my love and I, and please God we shall not ask for reason’s payment, The why of heart-breaking strangeness in dreeping hedges Nor analyse God’s breath in common statement. Advent

Here I have kept fair tryst, and kept it true, When we were lovers all, and you were new; Address to an Old Wooden Gate

Then I will lean upon your top no more To dream, and muse of pebbles on a shore. Address To An Old Wooden Gate

Battered by time and weather; scarcely fit For firewood; there’s not a single bit Of paint to hide those wrinkles. Address To An Old Wooden Gate

The two young men were talking about girls. Ninety percent of their conversation was about girls. Only talk. Always talk. Tarry Flynn

The wet leaves of the cocksfoot Polished my boots as I Went round by the glistening bog-holes Lost in unthinking joy. Threshing Morning

Every old man I see In October-weather Seems to say to me, “ I was once your father “ Memory of My Father

For this soul needs to be honoured with a new dress woven From green and blue things and arguments that cannot be proven. Canal Bank Walk

The old mare Twenty-seven years old Died; we buried where The brown turf-mould Free from stones Presses little On her sapless bones - Burial Service

It is August now, I have hoped, But I hope no more - My beech tree will never hide sparrows From hungry hawks. Beech Tree

God keep you child When you go down The faithless streets Of Pleasure’s town. Orthodox