Patrick Kavanagh

The Seed and the Soil

The Bat

I stand to night
Leg-deep in ripened white
Grasses that excite
Slow fires of mind.

And blind
Bat-winged I rise - 
A bat - 
Where little star-eyes
Round gables peer
For wondering at.

Droll

His cursing lips are thin
And white as tin

His eyes are old as age
He is the Devils sage

His legs are bowed
Upon the world's road

And yet he can
Proclaim himself a man.

The Fall

I do not know what you are
Angel or demon
Wise men have invented names for you
Out of the happiness you bestowed
Where you stayed
Was life smooth as Death's peace
And gay as a childs praying.

Field Stone

My fathers were a temple in the deep
Hill-secrecies where I to day roll blindly
The masonry of my generations
Has taken not kindly
To air and pick of time
I roll upon the ridge of tribulations
And the bulls paw the wind
Where once was rhyme and chime
Scroll to Top