Geoffrey Grigson died in 1985, writing poetry until the very last. The posthumous volume of poetry Persephone's Flowers - scandalously, the only collection of his verse still in print - ends, not with a mellow portrait of peaceful resignation, but instead Grigson and his nurse 'who had promised him that his death - which he knew to be near - would be easy, not the anguish of destruction he anticipated'.
|He is buried alongside Jane (who died in 1990) at Broad Town. A marvellous bush has grown out of the grave, all but obscuring the beautifully lettered stone, at once painting a vivid image of the sort Grigson himself would have cherished: of the natural and traditional as an essential and undilutable part of the modern and progressive. Such considerations as these shaped his opinions, and as a consequence have, in many ways, helped to shape ours.|