She kept her songs, they kept so l
The covers pleased her:
One bleached from lying in a sunny
One marked in circles by a vase of
One mended, when a tidy fit had se

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

If hands could free you, heart,
Where would you fly?
Far, beyond every part
Of earth this running sky
Makes desolate? Would you cross

This empty street, this sky to bla
This air, a little indistinct with
Like a reflection, constitute the
A time traditionally soured,
A time unrecommended by event.

Come To Sunny Prestatyn
Laughed the girl on the poster,
Kneeling up on the sand
In tautened white satin.
Behind her, a hunk of coast, a

Choice of you shuts up that peacoc
The future was, in which temptingl
All that elaborative nature can.
Matchless potential! but unlimited
Only so long as I elected nothing

That note you hold, narrowing and
Like New Orleans reflected on the
And in all ears appropriate falseh
Building for some a legendary Qua
Of balconies, flower—baskets and q

Home is so sad. It stays as it wa
Shaped in the comfort of the last
As if to win them back. Instead,
Of anyone to please, it withers so
Having no heart to put aside the t

Lonely in Ireland, since it was n
Strangeness made sense. The salt
Insisting so on difference, made m
Once that was recognised, we were
Their draughty streets, end—on to

To put one brick upon another,
Add a third and then a forth,
Leaves no time to wonder whether
What you do has any worth.
But to sit with bricks around you