Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Patrick Kavanagh
Now is the hour we rake out the ashes
Of the spirit-fires winter-kindled.
This old tempe must fall,
We dare not leave it
Dark, unlovely, deserted.
Level! O level it down!
Here we are building a bright new town.
That old cranky spinster is dead.
Who fed us cold flesh.
And in the green meadows
The maiden of Spring is with child
By the Holy Host.
April was written by Patrick Kavanagh.