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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476416" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>April Dusk</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476416" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">April dusk<br>It is tragic to be a poet now<br>And not a lover<br>Paradised under the mutest bough.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476416" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I look through my window and see<br>The ghost of life flitting bat-winged.<br>O I am as old as a sage can even be,<br>O I am as lonely as the first fool kinged.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476416" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The horse in his stall turns away<br>From the hay-filled manger, dreaming of grass<br>Soft and cool in hollows. Does he neigh<br>Jealousy-words for John MacGuigan's ass<br>That never was civilised in stall or trace.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476416" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">An unmusical ploughboy whistles down the lane<br>Not worried at all about the fate of Europe.<br>While I sit here feeling the subtle pain<br>Of one whose Tree of God has been uprooted.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Patrick+Kavanagh">Patrick Kavanagh</a></strong></div>

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