It’s So Dull Here

To settle in this village of the heart,
My darling, can you bear it? True, the Hall
With its yews and famous dovecote is still there
Just as in childhood, but the grand old couple
Who loved us all so equally are dead,
And now it is a licensed house for tourists,
None too particular: one of the new
Trunk roads passes the very door already,
And the thin cafés spring up overnight.
The sham ornamentation, the strident swimming pool,
The identical and townee smartness,
Will you really see these as home and not depend
For comfort on the chance, the shy encounter
With the irresponsible beauty of a stranger?
O can you see precisely in our gaucheness
The neighbours’ strongest wish, to serve and love?