THE LETTERS OF RALPH VAUGHAN WILLIAMS

From R. Vaughan Williams,
The White Gates,
Westcott Road,
Dorking.

[Sometime between 1938 and 1946?]

My Dear

You mustn’t leave these precious things lying about anyhow¹

1.  A draft of a poem by UW:
Is sleep my rival? is it she
that lies so close & lies so still?
Lies so wrapped in tenderness?
And in my arms who wakes to bless
Whose head rests here its heaviness
No memories can so fulfil
This night where everything is well.