Cut Grass by Philip Larkin

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Cut Grass

Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death

It dies in the white hours
Of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snowlike strewn,

White lilac bowed,
Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace,
And that high-builded cloud
Moving at summer's pace.

Philip Larkin

Read poems about / on: june, summer, lost, death, flower

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Philip Housiaux (1/26/2008 6:11:00 AM)
Yes classic quality. Quatrains in abab, weak stresses in the metre and short lines encouraging reflective reading. I found myself wondering if the cut grass was
growing over a coffin in a graveyard.

Tarinikinkar Das (11/29/2004 11:16:00 PM)
I really loved the poem, it unleashed a gush of empathy for the the anguish of an innocent soul, expressed in such simple heart-touching words.

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