I have a thousand images of you in an hour; all different and all coming back to the same. I think of you once against a sky line: and on the hill that Sunday morning. The light and the shadow and quietness and the rain and the wood. And you. Your arms and lips and hair and shoulders and voice - you.

For Cambridge people rarely smile, Being urban, squat, and packed with guile.

But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known, And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own.

A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.

Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.

I know what things are good: friendship and work and conversation. These I shall have.