They laughed at one I loved
The triangular hill that hung
Under the big forth. They said.
That I was bound by the whitethorn hedges
of the little farm and did not know the world.
But I knew that love’s doorway to life
Is the same doorway everywhere
Ashamed of what i loved
I flung her from me and called her a ditch
Although she was smiling at me with violets.
But now I am back in the briary arms
The dew of an Indian Summer morning lies
on bleached potato- stalks-
what age am i?
I do not know what age i am
I am no mortal age;
I know nothing of woman,
Nothing of Cities.
I cannot die
Unless I walk outside these whitethorn hedges.
By my favourite Irish poet