Re: The poetry of Philip Britts

THE END OF THE WATCH

There's a crowing of cocks, and a paling of stars,
And the hours of the watch are far on;
There's a flush in the east, and the pipe of a bird,
And the last of the starlight is gone.

The darkness thins out, and the new world appears,
The watchman prepares to depart,
Let him go to his rest with the sun on his face,
And the splendour of stars in his heart.

Philip Britts, 1940

> EXPERIENCE -- BEWILDERMENT
>  
> I have stood all day on sodden earth,
> Beneath the heavy hand of weeping skies,
> And golden fancies hammered at my brain,
> An endless count of flying wonder-thoughts,
> Pell-mell upon each other, and again
> Forgotten, like the dance of dragonflies.
>  
> Philip Britts, 1940
>