Harrow-on-the-Hill

When melancholy Autumn comes to Wembley

    And electric trains are lighted after tea

The poplars near the Stadium are trembly

    With their tap and tap and whispering to me,

            Like the sound of little breakers

            Spreading out along the surf-line

When the estuary’s filling

                With the sea.

Then Harrow-on-the-Hill’s a rocky island

    And Harrow churchyard full of sailors’ graves

And the constant click and kissing of the trolley buses hissing

    Is the level to the Wealdstone turned to waves

            And the rumble of the railway

            Is the thunder of the rollers

As they gather up for plunging

                Into caves.

There’s a storm cloud to the westward over Kenton,

    There’s a line of harbour lights at Perivale,

Is it rounding rough Pentire in a flood of sunset fire

    The little fleet of trawlers under sail?

            Can those boats be only roof tops

            As they stream along the skyline

In a race for port and Padstow

                With the gale?