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This poem is taken from PN Review 41, Volume 11 Number 3, January - February 1985.

Listen. This is the Noise of Myth Eavan Boland

This is the story of a man and woman
under a willow and beside a weir
near a river in a wooded clearing.
They are fugitives. Intimates of myth.

Fictions of my purpose. I suppose
I shouldn't say that yet or at least
before I break their hearts or save their lives
I ought to tell their story. And I will.

When they went first it was winter; cold,
cold through the Midlands and as far West
as they could go. They knew they had to go -
through Meath, Westmeath, Longford,

their lives unravelling like the hours of light -
and then there were lambs under the snow
and it was January, aconite and jasmine
and the hazel yellowing and puce berries on the ivy.
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