Philip Larkin — This was your place of birth this daytime palace

This was your place of birth, this daytime palace This miracle of glass, whose every hall This light as music fills, and on your face Shines petal-soft; sunbeams are prodigal To show you pausing at a picture's edge To puzzle out the name, or with a hand Resting a second on a random page -- The clouds cast moving shadows on the land. Are you prepared for what the night will bring? The stranger who will never show his face, But asks admittance; will you greet your doom As final; set him loaves and wine; knowing The game is finished when he plays his ace, And overturn the table and go into the next room?