Dear Lizbie Browne,

Where are you now?

In sun, in rain?—

Or is your brow

Past Joy, past pain,

Dear Lizbie Browne?

Sweet Lizbie Browne,

How you could smile,

How you could sing!

How archly wile

In glance-giving,

Sweet Lizbie Browne!

And, Lizbie Browne,

Who else had hair

Bay-red as yours,

Or flesh so fair

Bred out of doors,

Sweet Lizbie Browne?

When, Lizbie Browne,

You had just begun

To be endeared

By stealth to one,

You disappeared

My Lizbie Browne!

Ay, Lizbie Browne,

So swift your life, 

And mine so slow,

You were a wife

Ere I…

Look up the above poem by Hardy read by Dylan Thomas

I don't have a clue what she's talking about

Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows,

What are those blue remembered hills,

What towns, what spires are those?

Today I uploaded a new recording of a part of “When Memory Speaks”. Listen to the recording on the When Memory Speaks tab

I spent all day today packing, aided and abetted by Samantha, who slep soundly on my ironed shirts in the suitcase.