Philip Larkin (1922-1985)

　　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.