22 APRIL 1955, Page 23

Separation

You, my thought's mistress, not my body's, lie Untouchable, in a distant town, And in my brain Move intangibly, or murmur, sigh Or smile; your breath beats in my own.

But in that double presence all I see Is riddling images that tease My double eyes,

Mocking my sense with a duplicity That clears to a cold absence at sunrise.

RICHARD DRAIN