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02/15/2004: ""

Coming

On longer evenings,
Light, chill and yellow,
Bathes the serene
Foreheads of houses.
A thrush sings,
Laurel-surrounded
In the deep bare garden,
Its fresh-peeled voice
Astonishing the brickwork.
It will be spring soon,
It will be spring soon –
And I, whose childhood
Is a forgotten boredom,
Feel like a child
Who comes on a scene
Of adult reconciling,
And can understand nothing
But the unusual laughter,
And starts to be happy.



Philip Larkin

Replies: 1 Comment

on Tuesday, February 17th, Feith said

what's really sad is I didn't even know he existed until after he died - and then I fell in love with him.

The serene foreheads of houses. How can you not love that?

If I didn't already like you, I'd decide to like you based solely on this post.

:)

Feith