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Unformatted text preview: The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour. I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot. Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not. Postscript by Seamus Heaney from Opened Ground And some time make the time To drive out west Into County Clare along the Flaggy Shore In September or October when the wind And the light are working off each other So that the ocean on one side is wild With foam and glitter and inland among stones The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit By the earthed lightning of a flock of swans, Their feathers ruffed and ruffling, white on white, Their fully grown headstrong-looking heads Tucked or cresting or busy underwater. Useless to think you'll park and capture it More thoroughly. You are neither here nor there, A hurry through which known and strange things pass As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways And catch the heart off guard and blow it open....
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This note was uploaded on 05/09/2011 for the course ENGL 102 taught by Professor Christinmulligan during the Spring '11 term at University of North Carolina School of the Arts.
- Spring '11
- American Literature