18 NOVEMBER 1938, Page 25

WATERLOO

Now from the hollow bridge Dactylic thunder reports

The metrical roar of the last Outgoing midnight train : But the night is public yet, Lorries rumble past, And the girls at the coffee stall Still have expectations : One has a cigarette In a long thin holder, And one feels a hand On her bony satin shoulder- " Well, if it isn't Reg ! "

City nights are sad, The country's all gone west And bricks have run to seed : Glamour is what they want Even more than peace Who know not what they need, Though a pie with Worcester sane.: May stay the belly's cravings.

Shapes of life increase And every backyard crocus Cups its dole of sun : Habitual doubt awoke us But we go with hope to bed.

WILLIAM PLOMER