Notes from a small island A weblog by Jonathan Ali |
Sunday, March 28, 2004 We met at the end of the party When most of the drinks were dead And all the glasses dirty: "Here's this that's left," you said. We walked through the last of summer, When shadows reached long and blue Across days that were growing shorter: You said: "There's autumn too." Always for you what's finished Is nothing, and what survives Cancels the failed, the famished, As if we had fresh lives From that night on, and just living Could make me unaware Of June, and the guests arriving, And I not there. --"We Met at the End of the Party", by Philip Larkin posted by Jonathan | 7:04 PM 0 comments 0 Comments: |
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