Those long uneven lines br Standing as patiently br As if they were stretched outside br The Oval or Villa Park, br The crowns of hats, the sun br On moustached archaic faces br Grinning as if it were all br An August Bank Holiday lark; br And the shut shops, the bleached br Established names on the sunblinds, br The farthings and sovereigns, br And dark-clothed children at play br Called after kings and queens, br The tin advertisements br For cocoa and twist, and the pubs br Wide open all day; br And the countryside not caring br The place-names all hazed over br With flowering grasses, and fields br Shadowing Domesday lines br Under wheats' restless silence; br The differently-dressed servants br With tiny rooms in huge houses, br The dust behind limousines; br Never such innocence, br Never before or since, br As changed itself to past br Without a word-the men br Leaving the gardens tidy, br The thousands of marriages br Lasting a little while longer: br Never such innocence again.