Академический Документы
Профессиональный Документы
Культура Документы
BY SEAMUS HEANEY
2. A Constable Calls
His bicycle stood at the window-sill,
The rubber cowl of a mud-splasher
Skirting the front mudguard,
Its fat black handlegrips
He had unstrapped
The heavy ledger, and my father
Was making tillage returns
In acres, roods, and perches.
5. Fosterage
It is December in Wicklow:
Alders dripping, birches
Inheriting the last light,
The ash tree cold to look at.
Imagining a hero
On some muddy compound,
His gift like a clingstone
Whirled for the desperate.