Philip Larkin. High Windows.

When I see a couple of kidsAnd guess he’s fucking her and she’s   Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,   I know this is paradiseEveryone old has dreamed of all their lives—   Bonds and gestures pushed to one sideLike an outdated combine harvester,And everyone young going down the long slideTo happiness, endlessly. I wonder if   Anyone looked at me, forty years back,   And thought, That’ll be the life;No God any more, or sweating in the darkAbout hell and that, or having to hide   What you think of the priest. HeAnd his lot will all go down the long slide   Like free bloody birds. And immediatelyRather than words comes the thought of high windows:   The sun-comprehending glass,And beyond it, the deep blue air, that showsNothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.