4 AUGUST 1967, Page 17

An epitaph

EMYR HUMPHREYS

He had a short memory And this was his greatest asset.

In winter he had no clear recollection of spring. Each time the straight rain pierced the air He studied the vivacity of smoke in the wind As if that page of sky was newly printed.

His death too was a moment of surprise. He felt the light congealing in his eyes.