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 Ann's lace,
And that high-builded cloud
Moving at summer's pace.


Philip Larkin, Collected Poems, Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2004.