They laughed at one I loved- <br />The triangular hill that hung <br />Under the Big Forth. They said <br />That I was bounded by the whitethorn hedges <br />Of the little farm and did not know the world. <br />But I knew that love's doorway to life <br />Is the same doorway everywhere. <br />Ashamed of what I loved <br />I flung her from me and called her a ditch <br />Although she was smiling at me with violets. <br /> <br />But now I am back in her briary arms <br />The dew of an Indian Summer lies <br />On bleached potato-stalks <br />What age am I? <br /> <br />I do not know what age I am, <br />I am no mortal age; <br />I know nothing of women, <br />Nothing of cities, <br />I cannot die <br />Unless I walk outside these whitethorn hedges.<br /><br />Patrick Kavanagh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/innocence/
