King’s Dreary
The sky lies blue on top of still canals
In Cambridge. Perpendicular, the thrust
Of King’s attempts to leave the drear locales
And gravity behind. The sound of trust
Arises from the boys’ voices in
The soaring chapel space. They seem to have
No link with sodden grass outside. No kin
To lumpy, dull green pastures, high songs salve
The naked winter trees which also rise
In abrogation of the blandness. Land
Of sog and lumps and flatness clarifies
The beauty of the stone and the command
Of music. Flat beside the sodden park,
Wet surfaces catch heaven’s hovering arc.