Of all the poets of his generation
He best explored love's ecstasy and pain,
And overheard the wordless conversation
Of gaze with gaze, and made its meaning plain.
In glinting lyrics, delicate and witty,
He linked the syllables and made a chain
Of images of longing, rage and pity
That shimmered in each reader's heart and brain.
His tolerance and reconciliation
Of opposite emotions seemed divine;
Imagine, then, the general consternation
When he fell sick, grew pale, began to pine,
And failed to diagnose his own condition:
On love he never wrote another line.
The Times Saturday Review, Sept. 26, 1992