The poem
Cut grass lies frail: Brief is the breath Mown stalks exhale. Long, long the death
It dies in the white hours Of young-leafed June With chestnut flowers, With hedges snowlike strewn,
White lilac bowed, Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace, And that high-builded cloud Moving at summer's pace.
I saw this poem for the first time displayed amongst the advertising on the London Underground. It was like fresh air on a steamy hot London day. I wrote it in my notebook so I would remember the moment, just in time before I reached my stop at Earl's Court.
we are at school, and we had to choose a poem for english. I (Fran) chose cut grass. i decided this because its short, and easy to understand. Louise wants something longer. coz shes brainy. and strange.
I like the way the poem's speaker begins by looking down at the grass where it lies, small and frail, on the ground. The speaker gradually looks up--at the hedges, at the lilac, and then, finally, upward at the sky. He seems to equate the seeming fragility of the cut grass with the billowing majesty of the cloud.
I never tire of reciting this poem.
Like Avril, I saw this on the Poems on the Underground and wrote it down immediately. I have it on the wall of my office and it reminds me of the hedgerows of my childhood. I love Terrence's observations on the reader's viewpoint craning up to look eventually at the sky. For me, what touched me most was the haunting tone of the poem; the way it talks about the nature's ephemerality. It made me feel quite sad, but was so very beautiful at the same time - just like those hedgerows. It's just perfect.