THE CHINA PLATE

From a crowded barrow in a street-market

The plate was ransomed for a few coppers,

Was brought gleefully home, given a place

On a commanding shelf.

‘Quite a museum-piece,’ an expert cries

(Eyeing it through the ready pocket-lens) –

As though a glass case would be less sepulchral

Than the barrow-hearse!

For weeks this plate retells the history

Whenever an eye runs in that direction:

‘Near perdition I was, in a street-market

With rags and old shoes.’

‘A few coppers’ – here once again

The purchaser’s proud hand lifts down

The bargain, displays the pot-bank sign

Scrawled raggedly underneath.

Enough, permit the treasure to forget

The emotion of that providential purchase,

Becoming a good citizen of the house

Like its fellow-crockery.

Let it dispense sandwiches at a party

And not be noticed in the drunken buzz,

Or little cakes at afternoon tea

When cakes are in demand.

Let it regain a lost habit of life,

Foreseeing death in honourable breakage

Somewhere between the kitchen and the shelf –

To be sincerely mourned.

[From Collected Poems (1938)]