This brand of soap has the same smell as once in the
House he visited when he was eight: the walls of the bathroom
To reveal a lawn where a great yellow ball rolls back through a hoop To rest at the head of a mallet held in the hands of a child.
And these were the joys of that house: a tower with a telescope;
Two great faded globes, one of the earth, one of the stars;
A stuffed black dog in the hall; a walled garden with bees;
A rabbit warren; a rockery; a vine under glass; the sea.
To which he has now returned.
The day of course is
And a grown-up voice cries Play!
The mallet slowly swings,
Then crack, a great gong booms from the dog-dark hall and the
Skims forward through the hoop and then through the next and
Through hoops where no hoops were and each dissolves in
And the grass has grown head-high and an angry voice cries Play!
But the ball is lost and the mallet slipped long since from the
Under the running tap that are not the hands of a child.
