I. At the Beach If I care more than you, then I must pay, And willingly. On the beach this bright day Your laughter moves me more than tender speech. I am in love with you. Your two arms reach Into a brief extension of the sea. You play with water as you play with me, All surface and good nature. So, who cares? Who cares will pay exactly what he dares. Charles Gullans, from `Imperfect Correspondences'
A rowan like a lipsticked girl. Between the by-road and the main road Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance Stand off among the rushes
There the mud-flowers of dialect And the immortelles of perfect pitch And that moment when the bird sings very close To the music of what happens. Seamus Heaney