Maturity
By Philip Larkin
A stationary sense… as, I suppose,
I shall have, till my single body grows
Inaccurate, tired;
Then I shall start to feel the backward pull
Take over, sickening and masterful –
Some say, desired.
And this must be the prime of life… I blink,
As if at pain; for it is pain, to think
This pantomime
Of compensating act and counter-act
Defeat and counterfeit, makes up, in fact
My ablest time.
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