A SUNDAY NIGHT
Reading edition
ANYWHERE
SUNDAY TEA-TIME There is a noise of winkles on the air, Muffins and winkles rattle down the road, The sluggish road, whose hundred houses stare One on another in after-dinner gloom. "Peace, perfect Peace!" wails an accordion, "Ginger, you're barmy!" snarls a gramophone. A most unhappy place, this leafless Grove In the near suburbs; not a place for tears Nor for light laughter, for all life is chilled With the unpurposed toil of many years. But once—ah, once!—the accordion's wheezy strains Led my poor heart to April-smelling lanes.