Going by Philip Larkin

There is an evening coming in
Across the fields, one never seen before,
That lights no lamps.

Silken it seems at a distance, yet
When it is drawn up over the knees and breast
It brings no comfort.

Where has the tree gone, that locked
Earth to sky? What is under my hands,
That I cannot feel?

What loads my hand down?

by Philip Larkin

Other poems by 'Philip Larkin'

To Failure

If Hands Could Free You, Heart

MCMXIV

I Have Started To Say

Sunny Prestatyn

Money

Wedding Wind

Ignorance

I Remember, I Remember

He Hears That His Beloved Has Become Engaged

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