At one the wind rose, <br />And with it the noise <br />Of the black poplars. <br /> <br />Long since had the living <br />By a thin twine <br />Been led into their dreams <br />Where lanterns shine <br />Under a still veil <br />Of falling streams; <br />Long since had the dead <br />Become untroubled <br />In the light soil. <br />There were no mouths <br />To drink of the wind, <br />Nor any eyes <br />To sharpen on the stars' <br />Wide heaven-holding, <br />Only the sound <br />Long sibilant-muscled trees <br />Were lifting up, the black poplars. <br /> <br />And in their blazing solitude <br />The stars sang in their sockets through <br />the night: <br />`Blow bright, blow bright <br />The coal of this unquickened world.'<br /><br />Philip Larkin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-music/
