Those long uneven lines Standing as patiently As if they were stretched outside The Oval or Villa Park, The crowns of hats, the sun

Rain patters on a sea that tilts a… Fast-running floors, collapsing in… Tower suddenly, spray-haired. Con… A wave drops like a wall: another… Wilting and scrambling, tirelessly…

On the day of the explosion Shadows pointed towards the pithea… In the sun the slagheap slept. Down the lane came men in pitboots Coughing oath-edged talk and pipe-…

Is it for now or for always, The world hangs on a stalk? Is it a trick or a trysting—place, The woods we have found to walk? Is it a mirage or miracle,

‘This was Mr Bleaney’s room. He… The whole time he was at the Bodi… They moved him.’ Flowered curtain… Fall to within five inches of the… Whose window shows a strip of buil…

‘Dockery was junior to you, Wasn’t he?’ said the Dean. ‘His s… Death-suited, visitant, I nod. ‘A… You keep in touch with—’ Or remem… Black-gowned, unbreakfasted, and s…

Even so distant, I can taste the… Bitter and sharp with stalks, he m… The sun’s occasional print, the br… Worry of wheels along the street o… Where bridal London bows the othe…

I thought it would last my time— The sense that, beyond the town, There would always be fields and f… Where the village louts could clim… Such trees as were not cut down;

I feared these present years, The middle twenties, When deftness disappears, And each event is Freighted with a source—encrusting…

Strange to know nothing, never to… Of what is true or right or real, But forced to qualify or so I fee… Or Well, it does seem so: Someone must know.