Poem by Lesbia Harford

Closing Time: Public Library

At ten o'clock the great gong sounds its dread
Prelude to splendour. I push back my chair,
And all the people leave their books. We flock,
Still acquiescent, down the marble stair
Into the dark where we can't read. And thought
Swoops down insatiate through the starry air.

1. He had served eighty masters. They'd have said
2. Child Sun
3. All through the day at my machine
4. Do you remember still the little song
5. I can't feel the sunshine

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