Favourite poet essay

But sound is no respecter of walls, high or low; it is perhaps the “something” in the Robert Frost poem  Mending Wall : “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall”. One evening in our first term, in the break between First Study and Second Study, we were halted in our game of handball by the sound of singing, coming from the direction of the jail. It was a stirring rendition of  Kevin Barry , presumably by a veteran of the ’56 campaign, still detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure: “Just a lad of eighteen summers, still there’s no-one can deny, as he marched to death that morning, he proudly held his head on high…” When the singing ended abruptly in mid-stream, it seemed only natural to put our hands together and clap. But even natural acts have consequences and following an official complaint we were collectively, if half-heartedly, admonished.

Favourite poet essay

favourite poet essay

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