I am staying with Louis Macneice for a while and, over the next few days, I shall say something about his life and works.

For the moment, here is a very short, sad little poem - perhaps written towards the end of his life.

137413905_9232662cf6

EPILOGUE

Rows of books around me stand,
Fence me in on either hand;
Through that forest of dead words
I would hunt the living birds -
So I write these lines for you
Who have felt the death-wish too,
All the wires are cut, my friends
Live beyond the severed ends.

Louis Macneice

Note: In August of 1963, MacNeice, on location with a BBC team, insisted on going down into a mineshaft to check on sound effects.

He caught a chill that was not diagnosed as pneumonia until he was fatally ill.

He died on September 3, 1963, just before the publication of his last book of poems, 'The Burning Perch'.

He was 55 years old.