But ardent for fair compunction to atone,
To stand stiff-backed against that impotence of spirit
Which blots out longing for the outstretched hand.
For the wrongdoer shrinks from,
Sneers at and feels it disgrace to be
His victim - only because he did not find a way
Promptly through wounding to a just measure
Of his ignominy, to confession, fitting penalty,
To restoration of the nightingale and the faded flowers.
7. ‘Property allocator, dear...’
Seventh in the nest of sorrows is the brood
Of Tarquins, tangent to the family circle,
Squanderer of his people’s careers and relationships,
The surest poison of their tastes and interests -
But a wrap green enough for their social functions.
Tarquin is cocooned from mixing with his peers -
There being no Piers - and is told instead
To ‘fashion his gait according to his calling’ -
But is just too naff to understand those words.
Samantha successfully quarantined her parents
And put out of reach any larger goals
Than earning good bread and admiring their home.
Not feeling fulfilled by their one hobby, the TV,
They thought that the pressure to achieve in school
And be more outgoing would come from outside
An unedifying centre, empty of stimulation -
As a termly cheque brought her sense of achievement,