When getting my nose in a bookCured most things short of school, It was worth ruining my eyesTo know I could still keep cool, And deal out the old right hookTo dirty dogs twice my size. Later, with inch-thick specs, Evil was just my lark: Me and my coat and fangsHad ripping times in the dark. The women I clubbed with sex!I broke them up like meringues. Don't read much now: the dudeWho lets the girl down beforeThe hero arrives, the chapWho's yellow and keeps the storeSeem far too familiar. Get stewed: Books are a load of crap.(A Study Of Reading Habits)
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 distanceEnds the land suddenly beyond a beach Of shapes and shingle. Here is unfenced existence: Facing the sun, untalkative, out of reach.
MCMXIVThose long uneven linesStanding as patientlyAs if they were stretched outsideThe Oval or Villa Park, The crowns of hats, the sunOn moustached archaic facesGrinning as if it were allAn August Bank Holiday lark; And the shut shops, the bleachedEstablished names on the sunblinds, The farthings and sovereigns, And dark-clothed children at playCalled after kings and queens, The tin advertisementsFor cocoa and twist, and the pubsWide open all day--And the countryside not caring: The place names all hazed overWith flowering grasses, and fieldsShadowing Domesday linesUnder wheat's restless silence; The differently-dressed servantsWith tiny rooms in huge houses, The dust behind limousines; Never such innocence, Never before or since, As changed itself to pastWithout a word--the menLeaving the gardens tidy, The thousands of marriages, Lasting a little while longer: Never such innocence again.