Nothing To Be Said

Philip Larkin

For nations vague as weed,
For nomads among stones,
Small-statured cross-faced tribes
And cobble-close families
In mill-towns on dark mornings
Life is slow dying.

So are their separate ways
Of building, benediction,
Measuring love and money
Ways of slow dying.
The day spent hunting pig
Or holding a garden-party,

Hours giving evidence
Or birth, advance
On death equally slowly.
And saying so to some
Means nothing; others it leaves
Nothing to be said.

Next 10 Poems

• Philip Larkin : Poetry Of Departures
• Philip Larkin : Reasons For Attendance
• Philip Larkin : Sad Steps
• Philip Larkin : Send No Money
• Philip Larkin : Since The Majority Of Me
• Philip Larkin : Skin
• Philip Larkin : Solar
• Philip Larkin : Story
• Philip Larkin : Sunny Prestatyn
• Philip Larkin : Take One Home For The Kiddies

Previous 10 Poems

• Philip Larkin : No Road
• Philip Larkin : Night-music
• Philip Larkin : Next, Please
• Philip Larkin : New Eyes Each Year
• Philip Larkin : Myxomatosis
• Philip Larkin : Mr Bleaney
• Philip Larkin : Mother, Summer, I
• Philip Larkin : Money
• Philip Larkin : Modesties
• Philip Larkin : Mcmxiv