Back From Australia
John Betjeman
Cocooned in Time, at this inhuman height, The packaged food tastes neutrally of clay, We never seem to catch the running day But travel on in everlasting night With all the chic accoutrements of flight: Lotions and essences in neat array And yet another plastic cup and tray. "Thank you so much. Oh no, I'm quite all right". At home in Cornwall hurrying autumn skies Leave Bray Hill barren, Stepper jutting bare, And hold the moon above the sea-wet sand. The very last of late September dies In frosty silence and the hills declare How vast the sky is, looked at from the land.
Next 10 Poems
- John Betjeman : Business Girls
- John Betjeman : Christmas
- John Betjeman : Cornish Cliffs
- John Betjeman : Dawlish
- John Betjeman : Death In Leamington
- John Betjeman : Devonshire Street W.1
- John Betjeman : Diary Of A Church Mouse
- John Betjeman : Dilton Marsh Halt
- John Betjeman : Executive
- John Betjeman : Felixstowe, Or The Last Of Her Order
Previous 10 Poems
- John Betjeman : An Edwardian Sunday, Broomhill, Sheffield
- John Betjeman : A Subaltern's Love Song
- John Betjeman : A Shropshire Lad
- John Betjeman : A Bay In Anglesey
- Hilaire Belloc : Yak, The
- Hilaire Belloc : Whale, The
- Hilaire Belloc : Vulture, The
- Hilaire Belloc : Time Cures All
- Hilaire Belloc : Tiger, The
- Hilaire Belloc : The Yak