Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows.
Norfolk would not be Norfolk without a church tower on the horizon or round a corner up a lane. We cannot spare a single Norfolk church. When a church has been pulled down the country seems empty or is like a necklace with a jewel missing.
Too many people in the modern world view poetry as a luxury, not a necessity like petrol. But to me it's the oil of life.
And I think it was the outline of that church tower at Belaugh against the sky which gave me a passion for churches so that every church I've past since I've wanted to stop and look in.
History must not be written with bias, and both sides must be given, even if there is only one side.
On out deathbeds we're not going to regret all the work we didn't do. We're going to regret all the sex we didn't have!
And behind their frail partitions Business women lie and soak, Seeing through the draughty skylight Flying clouds and railway smoke. Rest you there, poor unbelov'd ones, Lap your loneliness in heat, All too soon the tiny breakfast, Trolley-bus and windy street!
And now, dear Lord, I cannot wait Because I have a luncheon date.
There are two thing you need for a jolly good hymn.The first is a set of words that expresses the mood or sentiment of the worshipper.The second-and perhaps even more important- is a good tune..with a simple popular melody.
I ought to warn you that my verse is of no interest to people who can think.
I don't think I am any good. If I thought I was any good, I wouldn't be.
And London shops on Christmas Eve Are strung with silver bells and flowers As hurrying clerks the City leave To pigeon-haunted classic towers, And marbled clouds go scudding by The many-steepled London sky
Ludlow....is probably the loveliest town in England with its hill of Georgian houses ascending from the river Teme to the great tower of the cross-shaped church, rising behind a classic market building.
Lovers of Norfolk churches can never agree which is the best and I think one is either a Salle or a Cawston man.
Lord, reserve for me a crown,
And do not let my shares go down.
Now if the harvest is over, And the world cold, Give me the bonus of laughter, As I lose hold.
Oh! full Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!
Old men who never cheated, never doubted,
Communicated monthly, sit and stare
At the new suburb stretched beyond the run-way
Where a young man lands hatless from the air.
A whispering and watery Norfolk sound
Telling of all the moonlit reeds around.
Approval of what is approved of
Is as false as a well-kept vow.
I am still reeling with delight at the soaring majesty of Norfolk.
Imprisoned in a cage of sound, even the trivial seems profound
Hymns are the poetry of the people.
Topography is one of my chief themes in my poetry..about the country, the suburbs and the seaside... then there come's love... and increasingly; the fear of death.
Hymn tunes are the nearest we've got to English folk music..
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