The heavy mahogany door with its wrought-iron screen
    Shuts. And the sound is rich, sympathetic, discreet. 
The sun still shines on this eighteenth-century scene
    With Edwardian faience adornment—Devonshire Street. 

No hope. And the X-ray photographs under his arm
    Confirm the message. His wife stands timidly by.
The opposite brick-built house looks lofty and calm
    Its chimneys steady against the mackerel sky.

No hope. And the iron knob of this palisade
    So cold to the touch, is luckier now than he
"Oh merciless, hurrying Londoners! Why was I made
    For the long and the painful deathbed coming to me?"

She puts her fingers in his as, loving and silly
    At long-past Kensington dances she used to do
"It's cheaper to take the tube to Piccadilly
    And then we can catch a nineteen or a twenty-two".