IN NUNHEAD CEMETERY
IT is the clay that makes the earth stick to his spade;
He fills in holes like this year after year;
The others have gone; they were tired, and half afraid,
But I would rather be standing here;
There is nowhere else to go. I have seen this place
From the windows of the train that's going past
Against the sky. This is rain on my face—
It was raining here when I saw it last.
There is something horrible about a flower;
This, broken in my hand, is one of those
He threw in just now: it will not live another hour;
There are thousands more: you do not miss a rose.
One of the children hanging about
Pointed at the whole dreadful heap and smiled
This morning, after THAT was carried out;
There is something terrible about a child.
We were like children, last week, in the Strand;
That was the day you laughed at me
Because I tried to make you understand
The cheap, stale chap I used to be
Before I saw the things you made me see.
This is not a real place; perhaps by-and-by
I shall wake—I am getting drenched with all this rain:
To-morrow I will tell you about the eyes of the Crystal Palace train
Looking down on us, and you will laugh and I shall see what you see again.
Not here, not now. We said "Not yet
Across our low stone parapet
Will the quick shadows of the sparrows fall."
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