Poetry Archives

The glimmer of the limes, sun-heavy, sleeping,
  Goes trembling past me up the College wall.
Below, the lawn, in soft blue shade is keeping,
  The daisy-froth quiescent, softly in thrall.

Beyond the leaves that overhang the street,
  Along the flagged, clean pavement summer-white,
Passes the world with shadows at their feet
  Going left and right.

Remote, although I hear the beggar’s cough,
  See the woman’s twinkling fingers tend him a coin,
I sit absolved, assured I am better off
  Beyond a world I never want to join.