If I were called in
To construct a religion
I should make use of water.
Going to church
Would entail a fording

Day comes to an end.
The gas fire breathes, the trees a
Funny how hard it is to be alone.
I could spend half my evenings, if
Holding a glass of washing sherry,

That Whitsun, I was late getting
Not till about
One—twenty on the sunlit Saturday
Did my three—quarters—empty train
All windows down, all cushions hot

They say eyes clear with age,
As dew clarifies air
To sharpen evenings,
As if time put an edge
Round the last shape of things

Light spreads darkly downwards fro
Clusters of lights over empty chai
That face each other, coloured dif
Through open doors, the dining—roo
A larger loneliness of knives and

I work all day, and get half-drunk
Waking at four to soundless dark,
In time the curtain-edges will gro
Till then I see what’s really alw
Unresting death, a whole day neare

Always too eager for the future, w
Pick up bad habits of expectancy.
Something is always approaching; e
Till then we say,
Watching from a bluff the tiny, cl

Coming up England by a different
For once, early in the cold new ye
We stopped, and, watching men with
Sprint down the platform to famili
‘Why, Coventry!’ I exclaimed. ‘I

Obedient daily dress,
You cannot always keep
That unfakable young surface.
You must learn your lines —
Anger, amusement, sleep;

Swerving east, from rich industria
And traffic all night north; swerv
Too thin and thistled to be called
And now and then a harsh—named hal
Workmen at dawn; swerving to solit