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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476423" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Innocence</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476423" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">They laughed at one I loved-<br>The triangular hill that hung<br>Under the Big Forth. They said <br>That I was bounded by the whitethorn hedges<br>Of the little farm and did not know the world.<br>But I knew that love's doorway to life<br>Is the same doorway everywhere.<br>Ashamed of what I loved<br>I flung her from me and called her a ditch<br>Although she was smiling at me with violets.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476423" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">But now I am back in her briary arms<br>The dew of an Indian Summer lies<br>On bleached potato-stalks <br>What age am I?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476423" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I do not know what age I am,<br>I am no mortal age;<br>I know nothing of women,<br>Nothing of cities,<br>I cannot die<br>Unless I walk outside these whitethorn hedges.</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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