Walking from school is a consummat… Which route to follow to avoid the… Which paths to find that lead, cir… To leafy squirrel haunts and plopp… For dreams of Archibald and Tiger…

Hark, I hear the bells of Westgat… I will tell you what they sigh, Where those minarets and steeples Prick the open Thanet sky. Happy bells of eighteen-ninety,

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…

Dr Ramsden cannot read The Times… He’s dead. Let monographs on silk worms by ot… Thrown away Unread

Was it worth keeping the Halt ope… We thought as we looked at the sky Red through the spread of the ceda… With the evening train gone by? Yes, we said, for in summer the an…

Across the wet November night The church is bright with candleli… And waiting Evensong. A single bell with plaintive strok… Pleads louder than the stirring oa…

Encase your legs in nylons, Bestride your hills with pylons O age without a soul; Away with gentle willows And all the elmy billows

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,

I am a young executive. No cuffs… I have a Slimline brief-case and… In every roadside hostelry from he… The maîtres d’hôtel all know me we… You ask me what it is I do. Well,…

The sea runs back against itself With scarcely time for breaking wa… To cannonade a slatey shelf And thunder under in a cave. Before the next can fully burst

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…

How straight it flew, how long it… It clear’d the rutty track And soaring, disappeared from view Beyond the bunker’s back - A glorious, sailing, bounding driv…

Phone for the fish knives, Norman As cook is a little unnerved; You kiddies have crumpled the serv… And I must have things daintily s… Are the requisites all in the toil…

Bells are booming down the bohreen… White the mist along the grass, Now the Julias, Maeves and Maure… Move between the fields to Mass. Twisted trees of small green apple

Here among long-discarded cassocks… Damp stools, and half-split open h… Here where the vicar never looks I nibble through old service books… Lean and alone I spend my days