THE glimmer of the limes, sun-heavy,
sleeping,
Goes trembling past me up the College
wall.
Below, the
lawn, in soft blue shade is keeping,
The daisy-froth quiescent,
softly in thrall.
Beyond the leaves that overhang the
street,
Along the flagged, clean pavement
summer-white,
Passes
the world with shadows at their feet
Going left and
right.
Remote, although I hear the beggar’s
cough,
See the woman’s twinkling fingers tend him
a
coin,
I sit absolved, assured I am
better off
Beyond a world I never want to
join.