Lizzie
A pumping arm, a monumental spade, A giant sexton and a sexton's lad, Black in the lemon shafts the lantern's made Thrown on the foggy night. .. The copper and The man from the Home Office, in his hand The necessary order, stamp and stand Blowing into their fingers; but the fat Anglo-Italian in the velvet hat Half-fainting and half-freezing, in a fret Holds off aside and wraps his cloak around. Sable cockades of Irish yews impend, The belfry clock with heavy midnight sound Rolls into strike. The watchers on the lip Peer down and see a coming shouldered shape Where someone sails through deathworld in a ship...
Up comes the lid, off goes the cloth, and there The sudden bonfire of her red-gold hair That is not faded: though his poems are.
Hilary Corke
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