29 MARCH 1963, Page 34

Waking Beauty

Finding you took no time. At each machete-stroke The briers—neatly tagged By Freud the gardener— Sprang apart like cut wire. Your door was unfastened. You awoke instantly, Returning that first kiss Beyond any fable.

But how should I return Through far thornier tracts Of the wild rose-jungle, Dry, aching, encumbered By a still-drowsy girl?

Your eyes cleared and steadied.

Side by side we advanced On those glossy giants And their lattice of barbs : But they had all withered.