Gaily into Ruislip Gardens Runs the red electric train, With a thousand Ta’s and Pardon’s Daintily alights Elaine; Hurries down the concrete station

Golden haired and golden hearted I would ever have you be, As you were when last we parted Smiling slow and sad at me. Oh! the fighting down of passion!

Bird-watching colonels on the old… Down here at Dawlish where the sl… Low tide lifting, on a shingle sho… Long-sunk islands from the sea onc… Red cliffs rising where the wet sa…

Up the ash tree climbs the ivy, Up the ivy climbs the sun, With a twenty-thousand pattering, Has a valley breeze begun, Feathery ash, neglected elder,

In the licorice fields at Pontefr… My love and I did meet And many a burdened licorice bush Was blooming round our feet; Red hair she had and golden skin,

The gas was on in the Institute, The flare was up in the gym, A man was running a mineral line, A lass was singing a hymn, When Captain Webb the Dawley man…

We used to picnic where the thrift Grew deep and tufted to the edge; We saw the yellow foam flakes drif… In trembling sponges on the ledge Below us, till the wind would lift

The clock is frozen in the tower, The thickening fog with sooty smel… Has blanketed the motor power Which turns the London streets to… And footsteps with their lonely so…

The bells of waiting Advent ring, The Tortoise stove is lit again And lamp-oil light across the nigh… Has caught the streaks of winter r… In many a stained-glass window she…

Cocooned in Time, at this inhuman… The packaged food tastes neutrally… We never seem to catch the running… But travel on in everlasting night With all the chic accoutrements of…

I remember the dread with which I… Let go with a bang behind me our h… And, clutching a present for my de… Sailed out for the children’s part… Or rather the gathering night. Fo…

In among the silver birches, Winding ways of tarmac wander And the signs to Bussock Bottom, Tussock Wood and Windy Break. Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches

I made hay while the sun shone. My work sold. Now, if the harvest is over And the world cold, Give me the bonus of laughter

Let me take this other glove off As the vox humana swells, And the beauteous fields of Eden Bask beneath the Abbey bells. Here, where England’s statesmen l…

The kind old face, the egg-shaped… The tie, discretely loud, The loosely fitting shooting cloth… A closely fitting shroud. He liked old city dining rooms,