Devonshire Street W.1

 The heavy mahogany door with its wrought-iron screen
 Shuts.
 And the sound is rich, sympathetic, discreet.
 
The sun still shines on this eighteenth-century scene
 With Edwardian faience adornment -- Devonshire Street.
 

No hope.
 And the X-ray photographs under his arm
 Confirm the message.
 His wife stands timidly by.

The opposite brick-built house looks lofty and calm
 Its chimneys steady against the mackerel sky.


No hope.
 And the iron knob of this palisade
 So cold to the touch, is luckier now than he
"Oh merciless, hurrying Londoners! Why was I made
 For the long and painful deathbed coming to me?"

She puts her fingers in his, as, loving and silly
 At long-past Kensington dances she used to do
"It's cheaper to take the tube to Piccadilly
 And then we can catch a nineteen or twenty-two".

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