Philip Larkin Poems
|81.||For Sidney Bechet||1/3/2003|
|84.||Talking In Bed||1/3/2003|
|87.||The Whitsun Weddings||1/3/2003|
|89.||An Arundel Tomb||4/2/2010|
|90.||The Old Fools||1/3/2003|
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
- The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to ...
New eyes each year
Find old books here,
And new books,too,
Old eyes renew;
So youth and age
Like ink and page
In this house join,
Minting new coin.