2 X PHILIP LARKIN

Maturity
A stationary sense... as, I suppose,
I shall have, till my single body grows
Inacurrate, tired;
Then I shall start to feel the backward pull
Take over, sickening and masterful -
Some say, desired.

And this must be the prime of life... I blink,
As if at pain; for it is pain, to think
This pantomime
Of compensating act and counter-act,
Defeat and counterfeit, makes up, in fact,
My ablest time.
1951

Strangers
The eyes of strangers
Are cold as snowdrops,
Downcast, folded,
And seldom visited.

And stranger's acts
Cry but vaguely, drift
Across our attention's
Smoke-sieged afternoons.

And to live there, among strangers,
Calls for teashop behaviours:
Setting down the cup,
Leaving the right tip,

Keeping the soul unjostled,
The pocket unpicked,
The fancies lurid,
And the treasure buried.
1950