30 APRIL 1954, Page 11


Triple Time

And on another day will be the past, A valley cropped by fat neglected chances That we insensately forbore to fleece.

On this we blame our last Threadbare perspectives, seasonal decrease. This empty street, this sky to blandness scoured, This air, a little indistinct with autumn

Like a reflection, constitute the present—

A time traditionally soured, A time unrecommended by event.

But equally they make up something else: This is the future furthest childhood saw Between long houses, under travelling skies, Heard in contending bells—

An air lambent with adult enterprise,