Quoting Kavanagh

Quoting Kavanagh Weekly - Patrick Kavanagh Irish Poet

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

A man is original when he speaks the truth.
Signposts

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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

[Quoting Kavanagh @quotingkavanagh]

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