12 AUGUST 1966, Page 20

The Map

I smooth out a map of where you live, Run my finger along your street, Feel your will in the fibre of the sheet; But remember you said, I hate home!

It is so far to come; And wishing to spare you, even in my Helpless thoughts. from dwelling again there,

My eyes roam to the surrounding district—

Quiet villages you might have visited

In sad escape once; or to which, in a dream-life,

We might go. But my life's not full enough For me boldly to know of such other places. . . .

pefeated. I put away the map.

A becomes, with the sharpness

Of your mastery, cold, and cruel. . MAtr IN-SEYMOUR-SMITH