Cities, Like Cats, Will Reveal Themselves At

These Laid The World Away; Poured Out The Red Sweet Wine Of Youth; Gave Up The Years To Be Of Work And Joy, And That Unhoped Serene, That Men Call Age; And Those Who Would Have Been, Their Sons, They Gave, Their Immortality.

Infinite Hungers Leap No More I In The Chance Swaying Of Your Dress; And Love Has Changed To Kindliness.

I Shall Desire And I Shall Find The Best Of My Desires; The Autumn Road, The Mellow Wind That Soothes The Darkening Shires. And Laughter, And Inn-fires.

The Worst Of Slaves Is He Whom Passion Rules.

.. . . Would I Were In Grantchester, In Grantchester!