Seamus Heaney
Poems
1965-1975
Rite of Spring
So winter closed its fist
And got it stuck in the pump
The plunger froze up a lump
In its throat, ice founding itself
Upon iron. The handle
Paralysed at an angle.
Then the twisting of wheat straw
Into ropes, lapping them tight
Round stem and snout, then a light
That sent the pump up in flame.
It cooled, we lifted her latch,
Her entrance was wet, and she came.
Recipe courtesy of Wilton Industries
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