Qui part trop tôt revient trop tard
		(Alfred de Musset)

i: Victoria Gardens, Truro, 1919

Gaitered against the cold, going in terror of the dark firs taller than fathers, knowing the height and mystery of their bird-voluble tossing: chill growing things, fierce calling things, inhuman world: and a child, I, small as a shoe's voice, in it. Oh dangerous giant escalade of gardens, all the hill's toil and at the top no comfort - only the strange tanks, terrible as not being born; the alien glass and, sparse in the treacly green, red and gold that is living weed-covered web-clad, preciously sheltered from the naked trees and their lost voice in the wind that could blow me away.

ii: Continuum (Cambridge 1939-59)

Rich bodied stone the small stone bedded stream preserved and planted green of bank and bough still honeyed by the fixative sunlight now as then impassive and unparting now as then memorial without promise but a theme an inter-time or turning back again the scape not undone but by restoration blazoned anew as the drops change yet not the stream the dynasties of lead the plot of interlacing raining or of light and never the play the interplay gold celebration in green white hazel theatres playing forever on altered flesh the altering hours relight all scattered waterdrops continuum of river selves and city of years that come unparted so repassing echoing and so still the pictures though they travel yet they write one manifold in peace of time and will.

iii: Return Journey: Cornwall, 1959

Every greeting says goodbye already; every meeting is the last and only; the sliding Present gives the Past new faces. Remembered rivers die in waterdrops; the blown dust shivers all an imaged hill; the known field yearly is destroyed by flowers. Time cannot hide in hastening calendars, nor place abide on the dissolving map; the face of Being is itself a season. How shall we speak, when words undo each other? Land that you seek is never there again; and he who would return, dies by returning.