Poems by Eavan Boland
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Anorexic
... How warm it was and wideonce by a warm drum, ...
My Country in Darkness
... to the wretched bed he will have to make:The Gaelic world stretches out under a hawthorn tree ...
The Black Lace Fan My Mother Gave Me
... none at allunless ,of course, you improvise:The blackbird on this first sultry morning, ...
Outside History
... These stars these iron inklings of an Irish January, ...
Quarantine
... There is only time for this merciless inventory:Their death together in the winter of 1847 ...
That the Science of Cartography Is Limited
... into a plane, but to tell myself again thatthe line which says woodland and cries hunger ...
More Than Suspect
... The oaks are stricken by a serious illness ...
Witness
... to the blue distance seizing its perimeter, ...
The Harbour
... empire and arrogance and the Irish Sea risingand rising through a century of storms ...
How We Made a New Art on Old Ground
... the history of air: the crispness of a fern ...
The Long Evenings of Their Leavetakings
... on afternoon, on the end of everything, at the start of ever ...
And Soul
... the last tribute of a daughter, I thought of something ...
Becoming Anne Bradstreet
... But nought save home-spun cloth, i' th' house I find ...
The Lost Land
... where my children are distances, horizons: ...
House of Shadows. Home of Simile
... the way the body works against the possible&mdash ...
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