27 DECEMBER 1963, Page 22

Two Poems

West wind, my heart is dry. Green water, white water, Sun, warm the orchards. The clouds gather.

East wind, dry the linen. And with your cold fingers Hurry men homeward. The apple is ripening.

I wear my plain dress. Sailor tell me,

How long are the sea-miles?

Pigeon come home. Blue sky, grey sky, The apples are falling.

• Autumn Coast Silence of the white Autumn sun, hazy through broadening Cloud-weavings: invest, order. The flame Of summer is warped in Golden ripples down the bay, and the warm rock You as stolidly Here as the man singing At the mend of his boat or The empty tuns that sentry the bare beaches Till the seas rinse them At leisure. Now also the looms ply, A slow stirring and chuck, a tune in the house.

But, season explore the Broad cloth of your loom rhythms also Into this autumn man.

His pages rustle white from the balcony. Let the tides work within. Almost A cask of silence a Wine-slow or steady-aslweaving Perfecting darkness.

Mend of a man.

h■ Is tk. o 4; ie IX at


1tc 10 re



0 fti - re, rib ha nIl