Philip Larkin Poems >>
Night Music

At one the wind rose,
 And with it the noise
 Of the black poplars.

 Long since had the living
 By a thin twine
 Been led into their dreams
 Where lanterns shine
 Under a still veil
 Of falling streams;
 Long since had the dead
 Become untroubled
 In the light soil.
 There were no mouths
 To drink of the wind,
 Nor any eyes
 To sharpen on the stars'
 Wide heaven-holding,
 Only the sound
 Long sibilant-muscled trees
 Were lifting up, the black poplars.

 And in their blazing solitude
 The stars sang in their sockets through
 the night:
 `Blow bright, blow bright
 The coal of this unquickened world.'