Philip Larkin
To Failure
You do not come dramatically, with dragons That rear up with my life between their paws And dash me butchered down beside the wagons, The horses panicking; nor as a clause Clearly set out
An Arundel Tomb
Side by side, their faces blurred, The earl and countess lie in stone, Their proper habits vaguely shown As jointed armour, stiffened pleat, And that faint hint of the absurd – The little dogs
Continuing To Live
Continuing to live that is, repeat A habit formed to get necessaries Is nearly always losing, or going without. It varies. This loss of interest, hair, and enterprise Ah, if the game were poker,
Money
Quarterly, is it, money reproaches me: ‘Why do you let me lie here wastefully? I am all you never had of goods and sex, You could get them still by writing a few cheques.’
Wedding Wind
The wind blew all my wedding-day, And my wedding-night was the night of the high wind; And a stable door was banging, again and again, That he must go and shut it, leaving me
Why Did I Dream Of You Last Night?
Why did I dream of you last night? Now morning is pushing back hair with grey light Memories strike home, like slaps in the face; Raised on elbow, I stare at the pale fog
The Whitsun Weddings
That Whitsun, I was late getting away: Not till about One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday Did my three-quarters-empty train pull out, All windows down, all cushions hot, all sense Of being in a hurry
Ignorance
Strange to know nothing, never to be sure Of what is true or right or real, But forced to qualify or so I feel, Or Well, it does seem so: Someone must know. Strange
The Mower
The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found A hedgehog jammed up against the blades, Killed. It had been in the long grass. I had seen it before, and even fed it, once. Now I
Homage To A Government
Next year we are to bring all the soldiers home For lack of money, and it is all right. Places they guarded, or kept orderly, We want the money for ourselves at home Instead
I Have Started To Say
I have started to say “A quarter of a century” Or “thirty years back” About my own life. It makes me breathless It’s like falling and recovering In huge gesturing loops Through an empty
Sad Steps
Groping back to bed after a piss I part the thick curtains, and am startled by The rapid clouds, the moon’s cleanliness. Four o’clock: wedge-shaped gardens lie Under a cavernous, a wind-pierced sky. There’s
Wild Oats
About twenty years ago Two girls came in where I worked – A bosomy English rose And her friend in specs I could talk to. Faces in those days sparked The whole shooting-match off,
To My Wife
Choice of you shuts up that peacock-fan The future was, in which temptingly spread All that elaborative nature can. Matchless potential! but unlimited Only so long as I elected nothing; Simply to choose stopped
Since The Majority Of Me
Since the majority of me Rejects the majority of you, Debating ends forwith, and we Divide. And sure of what to do We disinfect new blocks of days For our majorities to rent With