Patrick Kavanagh Poems
|1.||On Raglan Road||1/3/2003|
|2.||In Memory Of My Mother||1/3/2003|
|3.||Inniskeen Road: July Evening||1/3/2003|
|6.||Stony Grey Soil||1/3/2003|
|7.||Canal Bank Walk||1/13/2003|
|8.||Memory of my Father||1/3/2003|
|11.||On An Apple-Ripe September Morning||1/3/2003|
|14.||To the Man After the Harrow||1/3/2003|
|15.||Wet Evening in April||1/3/2003|
|16.||Having To Live in the Country||1/3/2003|
My black hills have never seen the sun rising,
Eternally they look north towards Armagh.
Lot's wife would not be salt if she had been
Incurious as my black hills that are happy
When dawn whitens Glassdrummond chapel.
My hills hoard the bright shillings of March
While the sun searches in every pocket.
They are my Alps and I have climbed the Matterhorn