I have begun to die.
For now at last I know
That there is no escape
From Night. Not any dream
Nor breathless images of sleep
Touch my bat’s-eyes. I hang
Leathery-arid from the hidden roof
Of Night, and sleeplessly
I watch within Sleep’s province.
I have left
The lovely bodies of the boy and the girl
Deep in each other’s placid arms;
And I have left
The beautiful lanes of sleep
That barefoot lovers follow to this last
Cold shore of thought I guard.
I have begun to die
And the guns’ implacable silence
Is my black interim, my youth and age,
In the flower of fury, the folded poppy,
Night.
Locations in Harold's Library
- Raiders’ Dawn (book)
- Poetry of the World Wars (book)
- page 127
- in "World War Two - Lamentations: 'The Rock of Grief'"
- Poetry of the Second World War (book)
- page 35
- in "'By greatcoat, cartridge belt and helmet held together'"
- The Poetry of War 1939-45 (book)
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