15 JUNE 1985, Page 28

Walmer Castle

Leaves of summer Strong and green That gusts have strewn Across his lawn A lower wind Sweeps in a line Neat as a windscreen- Wiper, on.

Wellington here Asleep in his chair Let his last breath Whisp into Walmer East Kent air (His mask after death With no false-teeth in Unsparing, unkind . . .) Dismissive, that wind Rolls summer, a window-blind Up. I see out To a yew-sheltered clearing, See where I sit A father with sons Both nearly grown Now, thinking of bronze Masks and my own Life and unsparing End of it, watching the season Sweep leaves from our feet Cross as a barman Impatient to shut.

P.J.Kavanagh