Larkin's "Cut Grass"

Sorry about the formatting. Interrupted The Pledge for Larkin's darkish poems. This one's "mild" and more about nature than his cynicism (though still there). I like the archaic "builded."

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Cut Grass

Cut grass lies frail: Brief is the breath Mown stalks exhale. Long, long the death It dies in the white hours Of young-leafed June With chestnut flowers, With hedges snowlike strewn, White lilac bowed, Lost lanes of Queen Anne’s lace, And that high-builded cloud Moving at summer’s pace.


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