'On this plain house where I
Dwell and shall doubtless die
As did my plain forefathers in times past
I see the willow's light-limbed shadow cast.
I watch in solitude
Its flying attitude
Laid on that brick and mortar soberness
Like the sharp imprint of a fleeting kiss.
Just so, I think, your shade,
Alien and clear, was laid
Briefly on this plain heart which now plods on
In this plain house where progeny is none.'
Sylvia Townsend Warner