My wife and I have asked a crowd of craps <br />To come and waste their time and ours: perhaps <br />You'd care to join us? In a pig's arse, friend. <br />Day comes to an end. <br />The gas fire breathes, the trees are darkly swayed. <br />And so Dear Warlock-Williams: I'm afraid-- <br /> <br />Funny how hard it is to be alone. <br />I could spend half my evenings, if I wanted, <br />Holding a glass of washing sherry, canted <br />Over to catch the drivel of some bitch <br />Who's read nothing but Which; <br />Just think of all the spare time that has flown <br /> <br />Straight into nothingness by being filled <br />With forks and faces, rather than repaid <br />Under a lamp, hearing the noise of wind, <br />And looking out to see the moon thinned <br />To an air-sharpened blade. <br />A life, and yet how sternly it's instilled <br /> <br />All solitude is selfish. No one now <br />Believes the hermit with his gown and dish <br />Talking to God (who's gone too); the big wish <br />Is to have people nice to you, which means <br />Doing it back somehow. <br />Virtue is social. Are, then, these routines <br /> <br />Playing at goodness, like going to church? <br />Something that bores us, something we don't do well <br />(Asking that ass about his fool research) <br />But try to feel, because, however crudely, <br />It shows us what should be? <br />Too subtle, that. Too decent, too. Oh hell, <br /> <br />Only the young can be alone freely. <br />The time is shorter now for company, <br />And sitting by a lamp more often brings <br />Not peace, but other things. <br />Beyond the light stand failure and remorse <br />Whispering Dear Warlock-Williams: Why, of course--<br /><br />Philip Larkin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/vers-de-soci-t/
