First Evening, by Rimbaud

First there was coming

Fishermen

Flies

For a Child Born Dead from For My Mother

Forgiveness

Fountain

Friendship

A Game of Chess

Ghosts

Give it a name. It is still there

Grapes

Greek Statues

Grove House, Iffley

Harvest and Consecration

Hatching

He is always right

Her Garden

Here you will find peace, they said

His age drawn out behind him to be watched

‘His face shone’ she said

His night has come to an end and now he must break

Houses whose dirt and hurt we’ve kicked off gladly

How is it possible not to grow hard

Hurt

I do not know what they are catching

I do not understand this child

I Feel

I feel I could be turned to ice

I had a feeling that you might come back

I have come into the hour of a white healing

I have grown wary of the ways of love

I have lived in a time of opulent grief

I have not stood at this grave nor have I

I have sometimes thought how it would have been

I kept my answers small and kept them near

I knew that it lay about me

I praise those things I always take for granted

200 New Selected Poems

109

127

11

135

20

161

137

48

111

55

32

167

117

69

99

59

130

90

29

50

26

37

130

126

92

114

71

83

119

119

95

134

139

159

120

58

24

178

177