Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

I keep thinking how we wait all year
and possibly longer (because not every summer
contains such days) for such days.

Because when summer is at its very height
its poise is the pause of the church bell suspended
rim-up after its stroke, mouth open.

At Allington Cross the whole landscape
was a bell mouth open, ah, the luminous
untrammeled now of it, rim-up and poised:

And paused at the crossroads in the liquefying
high-sky heat I understood the composer
who cycled round and round the square

so as not to miss a note of the broadcast symphony.