No.83

The Sunlight on the Garden

Louis MacNeice 1907-63

The sunlight on the garden 

Hardens and grows cold, 

We cannot cage the minute 

Within its nets of gold, 

When all is told 

We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances 

Advances towards its end; 

The earth compels, upon it 

Sonnets and birds descend; 

And soon, my friend, 

We shall have no time for dances.

The sky was good for flying 

Defying the church bells 

And every evil iron 

Siren and what it tells: 

The earth compels, 

We are dying, Egypt, dying

And not expecting pardon, 

Hardened in heart anew, 

But glad to have sat under 

Thunder and rain with you, 

And grateful too 

For sunlight on the garden.

-o0o-