I have your book, Elizabeth.Your name is on the flyleaf ina tidy cursive script. And“January 1959.”
A lifetime and a half ago, that “Chatto Modern Poetry” was new. Had you read the Eliot before? Did you want more Frances Cornford? Were you bored by de la Mare?
I suppose it doesn’t matter now(it didn’t matter, even then),and I’ll never know a singlething about you.
But I have your book,Elizabeth.