First published in the New Statesman on 23 October 1920.
“And though sometimes the weather is extreme / It seems no more so than when we were young. . .”
I lie in bed until The World at One, / why should my heart go off with an alarm?
Knuckled may lie this dark of earth. . .
"Yet how it waved, in coast’s late light. . . ."
"Thirty years later, in the Sheffield synagogue, / I saw you marry Norman, heard the strange sad chants".
From Virgil, the Aeneid, Book VI.
"A midwinter spring, of sorts, / the day you died. . ."
"They were my dad’s I tell him, recalling / how my father loved to savour a cigar after / a meal."
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