Felixstowe Or The Last Of Her Order
With one consuming roar along the
The long wave claws and rakes the pebbles
To where its backwash and the next wave mingle,
A mounting arch of water
With one consuming roar along the
The long wave claws and rakes the pebbles
To where its backwash and the next wave mingle,
A mounting arch of water
Bells are booming down the bohreens,
White the mist along the grass,
Now the Julias,
Maeves and
Here among long-discarded cassocks,
Damp stools, and half-split open hassocks,
Here where the vicar never looksI nibble through old service books
Lean and alone I spend my
The last year's leaves are on the beech:
The twigs are black; the cold is dry;
To deeps beyond the deepest
The Easter bells enlarge the sky
The clock is frozen in the tower,
The thickening fog with sooty
Has blanketed the motor
Which turns the London streets to hell;
Gaily into Ruislip
Runs the red electric train,
With a thousand Ta's and
Daintily alights Elaine;
She died in the upstairs
By the light of the ev'ning
That shone through the plate glass
From over Leamington
Phone for the fish knives,
As cook is a little unnerved;
You kiddies have crumpled the
And I must have things daintily served
The sleepy sound of a tea-time
Slaps at the rocks the sun has dried,
Too lazy, almost, to sink and
Round low peninsulas pink with thrift
The heavy mahogany door with its wrought-iron screen Shuts
And the sound is rich, sympathetic, discreet
The sun still shines on this eighteenth-century scene With Edwardian faience adornment — Devonshire Street
No hope
I remember the dread with which I at a quarter past
Let go with a bang behind me our house front
And, clutching a present for my dear little hostess tight,
Sailed out for the children's party into the
Let me take this other glove
As the vox humana swells,
And the beauteous fields of
Bask beneath the Abbey bells