Get Your Premium Membership

Best Famous Austin Clarke Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Austin Clarke poems. This is a select list of the best famous Austin Clarke poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Austin Clarke poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of austin clarke poems.

Search and read the best famous Austin Clarke poems, articles about Austin Clarke poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Austin Clarke poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:
Written by Austin Clarke | Create an image from this poem

The Lost Heifer

 When the black herds of the rain were grazing,
In the gap of the pure cold wind
And the watery hazes of the hazel
Brought her into my mind,
I thought of the last honey by the water
That no hive can find.
Brightness was drenching through the branches When she wandered again, Turning sliver out of dark grasses Where the skylark had lain, And her voice coming softly over the meadow Was the mist becoming rain.


Written by Austin Clarke | Create an image from this poem

The Planters Daughter

 When night stirred at sea,
An the fire brought a crowd in
They say that her beauty
Was music in mouth
And few in the candlelight
Thought her too proud,
For the house of the planter
Is known by the trees.
Men that had seen her Drank deep and were silent, The women were speaking Wherever she went -- As a bell that is rung Or a wonder told shyly And O she was the Sunday In every week.
Written by Austin Clarke | Create an image from this poem

The Blackbird Of Derrycairn

 Stop, stop and listen for the bough top
Is whistling and the sun is brighter
Than God's own shadow in the cup now!
Forget the hour-bell.
Mournful matins Will sound, Patric, as well at nightfall.
Faintly through mist of broken water Fionn heard my melody in Norway.
He found the forest track, he brought back This beak to gild the branch and tell, there, Why men must welcome in the daylight.
He loved the breeze that warns the black grouse, The shouts of gillies in the morning When packs are counted and the swans cloud Loch Erne, but more than all those voices My throat rejoicing from the hawthorn.
In little cells behind a cashel, Patric, no handbell gives a glad sound.
But knowledge is found among the branches.
Listen! That song that shakes my feathers Will thong the leather of your satchels.

Book: Shattered Sighs