Philip Larkin's Church Going

From "Church Going":

Once I am sure there’s nothing going on 

I step inside, letting the door thud shut. 

Another church: matting, seats, and stone, 

And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut 

For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff 

Up at the holy end; the small neat organ; 

And a tense, musty, unignorable silence, 

Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off 

My cycle-clips in awkward reverence,

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