The Death of Mr. Barrett

It is true that first words must be said --

But of the past I cannot speak. I believe

Hope had died in me long ago

Of reconciliation in this world...

Occupation is the only thing to keep one

On one's feet a little, that I know well.

Only it is hard sometimes to force oneself

Into occupation...there's -- the hardness.

I take up books -- but my heart goes walking up and down

Constantly through that house on Wimpole Street.

Till it is tired, tired, tired. The truth is,

I am made of paper, and it tears me.