Guilt

The clock is frozen in the tower,

The thickening fog with sooty

Has blanketed the motor

Which turns the London streets to hell;

And footsteps with their lonely

Intensify the silence round.

I haven't hope.

I haven't faith.

I live two lives and sometimes three.

The lives I live make life a

For those who have to live with me.

Knowing the virtues that I lack,

I pat myself upon the back.

With breastplate of

And shoes of smugness on my feet,

Before the urge in me grows lessI hurry off to make retreat.

For somewhere, somewhere, burns a

To lead me out into the night.

It glitters icy, thin and plain,

And leads me down to Waterloo-Into a warm electric

Which travels sorry Surrey

And crystal-hung, the clumps of

Stand deadly still beside the line.