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I
hope
to
inherit
an
arm-chair
and
a
Turkey
carpet
.
My
shoulder
is
to
the
wheel
;
I
roll
the
dark
before
me
,
spreading
commerce
where
there
was
chaos
in
the
far
parts
of
the
world
.
If
I
press
on
,
--
from
chaos
making
order
,
I
shall
find
myself
where
Chatham
stood
,
and
Pitt
,
Burke
and
Sir
Robert
Peel
.
Thus
I
expunge
certain
stains
,
and
erase
old
defilements
;
the
woman
who
gave
me
a
flag
from
the
top
of
the
Christmas
tree
;
my
accent
;
beatings
and
other
tortures
;
the
boasting
boys
;
my
father
,
a
banker
at
Brisbane
.
'
I
have
read
my
poet
in
an
eating-house
,
and
,
stirring
my
coffee
,
listened
to
the
clerks
making
bets
at
the
little
tables
,
watched
the
women
hesitating
at
the
counter
.
I
said
that
nothing
should
be
irrelevant
,
like
a
piece
of
brown
paper
dropped
casually
on
the
floor
.
I
said
their
journeys
should
have
an
end
in
view
;
they
should
earn
their
two
pound
ten
a
week
at
the
command
of
an
august
master
;
some
hand
,
some
robe
,
should
fold
us
about
in
the
evening
.
When
I
have
healed
these
fractures
and
comprehended
these
monstrosities
so
that
they
need
neither
excuse
nor
apology
,
which
both
waste
our
strength
,
I
shall
give
back
to
the
street
and
the
eating-shop
what
they
lost
when
they
fell
on
these
hard
times
and
broke
on
these
stony
beaches
.
I
shall
assemble
a
few
words
and
forge
round
us
a
hammered
ring
of
beaten
steel
.
'
But
now
I
have
not
a
moment
to
spare
.
There
is
no
respite
here
,
no
shadow
made
of
quivering
leaves
,
or
alcove
to
which
one
can
retreat
from
the
sun
,
to
sit
,
with
a
lover
,
in
the
cool
of
the
evening
.
The
weight
of
the
world
is
on
our
shoulders
;
its
vision
is
through
our
eyes
;
if
we
blink
or
look
aside
,
or
turn
back
to
finger
what
Plato
said
or
remember
Napoleon
and
his
conquests
,
we
inflict
on
the
world
the
injury
of
some
obliquity
.
This
is
life
;
Mr
Prentice
at
four
;
Mr
Eyres
at
four-thirty
.
I
like
to
hear
the
soft
rush
of
the
lift
and
the
thud
with
which
it
stops
on
my
landing
and
the
heavy
male
tread
of
responsible
feet
down
the
corridors
.
So
by
dint
of
our
united
exertions
we
send
ships
to
the
remotest
parts
of
the
globe
;
replete
with
lavatories
and
gymnasiums
.
The
weight
of
the
world
is
on
our
shoulders
.
This
is
life
.
If
I
press
on
,
I
shall
inherit
a
chair
and
a
rug
;
a
place
in
Surrey
with
glass
houses
,
and
some
rare
conifer
,
melon
or
flowering
tree
which
other
merchants
will
envy
.
'
Yet
I
still
keep
my
attic
room
.
There
I
open
the
usual
little
book
;
there
I
watch
the
rain
glisten
on
the
tiles
till
they
shine
like
a
policeman
's
waterproof
;
there
I
see
the
broken
windows
in
poor
people
's
houses
;
the
lean
cats
;
some
slattern
squinting
in
a
cracked
looking-glass
as
she
arranges
her
face
for
the
street
corner
;
there
Rhoda
sometimes
comes
.
For
we
are
lovers
.
'
Percival
has
died
(
he
died
in
Egypt
;
he
died
in
Greece
;
all
deaths
are
one
death
)
.
Susan
has
children
;
Neville
mounts
rapidly
to
the
conspicuous
heights
.
Life
passes
.
The
clouds
change
perpetually
over
our
houses
.
I
do
this
,
do
that
,
and
again
do
this
and
then
that
.
Meeting
and
parting
,
we
assemble
different
forms
,
make
different
patterns
.
But
if
I
do
not
nail
these
impressions
to
the
board
and
out
of
the
many
men
in
me
make
one
;
exist
here
and
now
and
not
in
streaks
and
patches
,
like
scattered
snow
wreaths
on
far
mountains
;
and
ask
Miss
Johnson
as
I
pass
through
the
office
about
the
movies
and
take
my
cup
of
tea
and
accept
also
my
favourite
biscuit
,
then
I
shall
fall
like
snow
and
be
wasted
.
'
Yet
when
six
o'clock
comes
and
I
touch
my
hat
to
the
commissionaire
,
being
always
too
effusive
in
ceremony
since
I
desire
so
much
to
be
accepted
;
and
struggle
,
leaning
against
the
wind
,
buttoned
up
,
with
my
jaws
blue
and
my
eyes
running
water
,
I
wish
that
a
little
typist
would
cuddle
on
my
knees
;
I
think
that
my
favourite
dish
is
liver
and
bacon
;
and
so
am
apt
to
wander
to
the
river
,
to
the
narrow
streets
where
there
are
frequent
public-houses
,
and
the
shadows
of
ships
passing
at
the
end
of
the
street
,
and
women
fighting
.
But
I
say
to
myself
,
recovering
my
sanity
,
Mr
Prentice
at
four
;
Mr
Eyres
at
four-thirty
.
The
hatchet
must
fall
on
the
block
;
the
oak
must
be
cleft
to
the
centre
.
The
weight
of
the
world
is
on
my
shoulders
.
Here
is
the
pen
and
the
paper
;
on
the
letters
in
the
wire
basket
I
sign
my
name
,
I
,
I
,
and
again
I.
'
'S
ummer
comes
,
and
winter
,
'
said
Susan
.
'
The
seasons
pass
.
The
pear
fills
itself
and
drops
from
the
tree
.
The
dead
leaf
rests
on
its
edge
.
But
steam
has
obscured
the
window
.
I
sit
by
the
fire
watching
the
kettle
boil
.
I
see
the
pear
tree
through
the
streaked
steam
on
the
window-pane
.
'S
leep
,
sleep
,
I
croon
,
whether
it
is
summer
or
winter
,
May
or
November
.
