Joy Is For The Simple Or The

Here Silence Stands Like Heat. Here Leaves Unnoticed Thicken, Hidden Weeds Flower, Neglected Waters Quicken, Luminously-peopled Air Ascends; And Past The Poppies Bluish Neutral Distance Ends The Land Suddenly Beyond A Beach Of Shapes And Shingle. Here Is Unfenced Existence: Facing The Sun, Untalkative, Out Of Reach.

Only In Books The Flat And Final Happens, Only In Dreams We Meet And Interlock.

Living In England Has No Such Excuse: These Are My Customs And Establishments.

What Are Days For? Days Are Where We Live.

What Will Survive Of Us Is Love.