Seamus Heaney - From Lightenings lyrics

I Shifting brilliancies. Then winter light In a doorway, and on the stone doorstep A beggar shivering in silhouette. So the particular judgement might be set: Bare wallstead and a cold hearth rained into- Bright puddle where the soul-free cloud-life roams. And after the commanded journey, what? Nothing magnificent, nothing unknown. A gazing out from far away, alone. And it is not particular at all, Just old truth dawning: there is no next-time-round. Unroofed scope. Knowledge-freshening wind. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- VI Once, as a child, out in a field of sheep, Thomas Hardy pretended to be dead And lay down flat among their dainty shins. In that sniffed-at, bleated-into, gra**y space He experimented with infinity. His small cool brow was like an anvil waiting For sky to make it sing the prefect pitch Of his dumb being, and that stir he caused In the fleece-hustle was the original Of a ripple that would travel eighty years Outward from there, to be the same ripple Inside him at its last circumference. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- VII (I misremembered. He went down on all fours, Florence Emily says, crossing a ewe-leaze. Hardy sought the creatures face to face, Their witless eyes and liability To panic made him feel less alone, Made proleptic sorrow stand a moment Over him, perfectly known and sure. And then the flock's dismay went swimming on Into the blinks and murmurs and deflections He'd know at parties in renowned old age When sometimes he imagined himself a ghost And circulated with that new perspective.) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- VIII The annals say: when the monks of Clonmacnoise Were all at prayers inside the oratory A ship appeared above them in the air. The anchor dragged along behind so deep It hooked itself into the altar rails And then, as the big hull rocked to a standstill, A crewman shinned and grappled down the rope And struggled to release it. But in vain. 'This man can't bear our life here and will drown,' The abbot said, 'unless we help him.' So They did, the freed ship sailed, and the man climbed back Out of the marvellous as he had known it.