FAIR was the morning, fair our tempers, and
Edward Thomas
She had a name among the children;
OVER known fields with an old friend in dream
"HE has robbed two clubs. The judge at Salisbury
THIS ploughman dead in battle slept out of doors
THERE once the walls
YES. I remember Adlestrop--
THE rain of a night and a day and a night
AFTER you speak
UNLESS it was that day I never knew
THE sun set, the wind fell, the sea
I WAS not apprenticed nor ever dwelt in famous
AND you, Helen, what should I give you?
THE sweetest thing, I thought
As the team's head-brass flashed out on the turn
ALL day and night, save winter, every weather,
WHAT does it mean? Tired, angry, and ill at ease,
THE summer nests uncovered by autumn wind.
BRIGHT clouds of may
BUT these things also are Spring's--
THINKING of her had saddened me at first,
OUT of the wood of thoughts that grows by night
TO-DAY I think
WHAT matter makes my spade for tears or mirth,
EARLY one morning in May I set out,
MEN heard this roar of parleying starlings, saw,
THERE they stand, on their ends, the fifty faggots
I NEVER had noticed it until
AN acre of land between the shore and the hills,
GONE, gone again,
THE skylarks are far behind that sang over the
AFTER night's thunder far away had rolled
THE downs will lose the sun, white alyssum
FOUR miles at a leap, over the dark hollow land,
NOT the end: but there's nothing more.
OFTEN I had gone this way before:
ONE hour: as dim he and his house now look
How at once should I know,
I BUILT myself a house of glass:
I NEVER saw that land before,
IF I should ever by chance grow rich
IF I were to own this countryside
THE flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood
GONE the wild day:
IT rains, and nothing stirs within the fence
IT was upon a July evening.
NAUGHT moves but clouds, and in the glassy lake
THE last light has gone out of the world, except
I HAVE come to the borders of sleep,
LIKE the touch of rain she was
AT hawthorn-time in Wiltshire travelling
THE two men in the road were taken aback.
"'TWILL take some getting." "Sir, I think 'twill
Now I know that Spring will come again,
HERE again (she said) is March the third
THERE never was a finer day,
THE rain and wind, the rain and wind, raved endlessly.
"No one cares less than I,
NOVEMBER'S days are thirty:
THE green elm with the one great bough of gold
OLD Man, or Lad's-love,--in the name there's
OUT in the dark over the snow
OFTEN and often it came back again
THE Past is a strange land, most strange.
RAIN, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
I LOVE roads:
THIS beauty made me dream there was a time
SHE dotes on what the wild birds say
IN the gloom of whiteness,
SOME eyes condemn the earth they gaze upon:
AT poet's tears,
IT was a perfect day
THEY have taken the gable from the roof of clay
TALL nettles cover up, as they have done
IT seems I have no tears left. They should have fallen--
THAT girl's clear eyes utterly concealed all
OVER the land freckled with snow half-thawed
HALF of the grove stood dead, and those that yet
THEY should never have built a barn there, at all--
IT stood in the sunset sky
I HAVE come a long way to-day:
SEATED once by a brook, watching a child
"Is this the road that climbs above and bends
THE cherry trees bend over and are shedding
"HE rolls in the orchard: he is stained with moss
MOTHER, the root of this little yellow flower
THE clouds that are so light,
THE Combe was ever dark, ancient and dark.
THAT'S the cuckoo, you say. I cannot hear it.
DARK is the forest and deep, and overhead
THERE was a weasel lived in the sun
THE glory of the beauty of the morning,--
THE green roads that end in the forest
A FORTNIGHT before Christmas Gypsies were every-
OUT in the sun the goldfinch flits
HE has a hump like an ape on his back;
TO-DAY I want the sky,
THE long small room that showed willows in the west
THE rock-like mud unfroze a little and rills
THE sun blazed while the thunder yet
ONLY the sound remains
CHAPEL and gravestones, old and few,
Now first, as I shut the door,
HE was the one man I met up in the woods
THE forest ended. Glad I was
DOWNHILL I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
RUNNING along a bank, a parapet
THE new moon hangs like an ivory bugle
IT stands alone
THE dim sea glints chill. The white sun is shy.
ALL day the air triumphs with its two voices
THE sun used to shine while we two walked
WHEN Winter's ahead,
RISE up, rise up,
SHE is most fair,
THREE lovely notes he whistled, too soft to be
THIS moonlight makes
THERE are so many things I have forgot,
THERE was a time when this poor frame was whole
THERE'S nothing like the sun as the year dies,
THESE things that poets said
THIS is no case of petty right or wrong
HARRY, you know at night
BETWEEN a sunny bank and the sun
UNDER the after-sunset sky
WHEN these old woods were young
WHAT shall I give my daughter the younger
What will they do when I am gone? It is plain
WHEN first I came here I had hope,
WHEN he should laugh the wise man knows full well:
WHEN we two walked in Lent
WILL you come?
THEY met inside the gateway that gives the view,
WOMEN he liked, did shovel-bearded Bob,
OUT of us all