THE SHELL
ARRIVED, he sees the well-remembered scene And gladly finds that all is as before,
The grocer on the corner, the Gothic church, The city 'buses halting at the door, Even the air that warm on summer evenings Bemused the boy who hurried home from school To linger in the public park and watch The fabulous maidens in the bathing pool.
Nothing is changed, except himself, for where Is now the urchin by the civic lake, The lonely boy on its suburban shore, Who rising early wandered half-awake A'ong the hills that overlooked the bay, The shipyards and the docks, and, looking down, Saw still the phantoms creeping from his veins Hanging like sleep above the sleepless town?
So strict the limit of his childish hope, He dreamed of living in some hidden valley Where no one came but inarticulate men, Far from the urgency of shame and folly, With honour unimpaired. And now he seeks To have that boy again before his eyes And fears to find him murdered by the years, The hatred and the folly and the lies, And sees him still, listening, beside the lake, Holding his dream, his terror and his joy, Bewilderment, the anguish of his blood, The sudden thunder—holding them as a boy Will hold a shell, to listen. Still he hears Above the beating of his terrified heart The seas of action booming in his ears.
GoRONWY REEL.
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