She died in the upstairs bedroom <br />By the light of the ev'ning star <br />That shone through the plate glass window <br />From over Leamington Spa <br /> <br />Beside her the lonely crochet <br />Lay patiently and unstirred, <br />But the fingers that would have work'd it <br />Were dead as the spoken word. <br /> <br />And Nurse came in with the tea-things <br />Breast high 'mid the stands and chairs- <br />But Nurse was alone with her own little soul, <br />And the things were alone with theirs. <br /> <br />She bolted the big round window, <br />She let the blinds unroll, <br />She set a match to the mantle, <br />She covered the fire with coal. <br /> <br />And 'Tea!' she said in a tiny voice <br />'Wake up! It's nearly five' <br />Oh! Chintzy, chintzy cheeriness, <br />Half dead and half alive. <br /> <br />Do you know that the stucco is peeling? <br />Do you know that the heart will stop? <br />From those yellow Italianate arches <br />Do you hear the plaster drop? <br /> <br />Nurse looked at the silent bedstead, <br />At the gray, decaying face, <br />As the calm of a Leamington ev'ning <br />Drifted into the place. <br /> <br />She moved the table of bottles <br />Away from the bed to the wall; <br />And tiptoeing gently over the stairs <br />Turned down the gas in the hall.<br /><br />John Betjeman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-in-leamington/
