On an apple-ripe September morning Through the mist-chill fields I went With a pitch-fork on my shoulder Less for use than for devilment. For the threshing mill was set-up I knew In O'Donovan's haggard last night, And we owed him a day at the threshing Since last year. Oh it was delight To be paying bills of laughter And loving and talk in kind With some work thrown in to ballast The fantasy-soaring mind…. (27 September 1943)
§ This poem is repeated in Tarry Flynn
and in Collected Poems;
it is also in the National Library MS, No. 38.