25 JUNE 1965, Page 23

Intruder

The apple flowers Snow these fruiters with sun—with a white Weightless promise: The dumb wait of the crop.

But among them I stand, reflecting.

The carp-pond----so old, King John Might have buried his jewels in it—

Spends daytime reflecting The briars: they foam into roses.

But I stand by the pond, resting, And surely am waiting?

A man who ponders The year's and apple-rounding: The contrary, freak, in the country's Unhurry, as much as If someone should come, Should trespass (transpire through the meadow) transforming The day with their wordless arrival

Or the quiet of a voice.

:MN HfiILIlwnY