O stony grey soil of MonaghanThe laugh from my love you thieved;You took the gay child of my passionAnd gave me your clod-conceived. You clogged the feet of my boyhoodAnd I believed that my stumbleHad the poise and stride of ApolloAnd his voice my thick tongued mumble. You told me the plough was immortal!O green-life conquering plough!The mandril stained, your coulter bluntedIn the smooth lea-field of my brow. You sang on steaming dunghillsA song of cowards' brood,You perfumed my clothes with weasel itch,You fed me on swinish food You flung a ditch on my visionOf beauty, love and truth.O stony grey soil of MonaghanYou burgled my bank of youth! Lost the long hours of pleasureAll the women that love young men.O can I stilll stroke the monster's backOr write with unpoisoned pen. His name in these lonely versesOr mention the dark fields whereThe first gay flight of my lyricGot caught in a peasant's prayer. Mullahinsa, Drummeril, Black Shanco-Wherever I turn I seeIn the stony grey soil of MonaghanDead loves that were born for me.
Read More! Learn More!