My father played the melodeon,
My mother milked the cows,
A Christmas Childhood
(Bealtaine Cottage in the snow…looking down the driveway in the week before Christmas, 2010.)
One side of the potato-pits was white with frost-
How wonderful that was, how wonderful!
And when we put our ears to the paling-post
The music that came out was magical.
The light between the ricks of hay and straw
Was a hole in Heaven’s gable. An apple tree
With its December-glinting fruit we saw-
O you, Eve, were the world that tempted me.
(Bealtaine Cottage in the winter of 2010, just coming into the driveway.)
To eat the knowledge that grew in clay
And death the germ within it! Now and then
I can remember something of the gay
Garden that was childhood’s. Again
The tracks of cattle to a drinking-place,
A green stone lying sideways in a ditch
Or any common sight the transfigured face
Of a beauty…
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