This poem is taken from PN Review 69, Volume 16 Number 1, September - October 1989.
In the MeadowsA landing-place, stone coping heaved by roots,
Steps down to water, two rustless iron rings:
Finding these, I imagined a river-journey
From the city to a palace outside the walls.
Cattle range in deep grass, trample the shade.
No building more than a barn ever stood here.
But clear in my mind as when I was a boy
The palace's shape and the courtesies it housed.
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