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Best Famous Edward Thomas Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Edward Thomas poems. This is a select list of the best famous Edward Thomas poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Edward Thomas poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of edward thomas poems.

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Written by Edward Thomas | Create an image from this poem

No One So Much As You

 No one so much as you
Loves this my clay, 
Or would lament as you
Its dying day.
You know me through and through Though I have not told, And though with what you know You are not bold.
None ever was so fair As I thought you: Not a word can I bear Spoken against you.
All that I ever did For you seemed coarse Compared with what I hid Nor put in force.
My eyes scarce dare meet you Lest they should prove I but respond to you And do not love.
We look and understand, We cannot speak Except in trifles and Words the most weak.
For I at most accept Your love, regretting That is all: I have kept Only a fretting That I could not return All that you gave And could not ever burn With the love you have, Till sometimes it did seem Better it were Never to see you more Than linger here With only gratitude Instead of love - A pine in solitude Cradling a dove.


Written by Edward Thomas | Create an image from this poem

The Manor Farm

 THE rock-like mud unfroze a little, and rills 
Ran and sparkled down each side of the road 
Under the catkins wagging in the hedge.
But earth would have her sleep out, spite of the sun; Nor did I value that thin gliding beam More than a pretty February thing Till I came down to the old manor farm, And church and yew-tree opposite, in age Its equals and in size.
The church and yew And farmhouse slept in a Sunday silentness.
The air raised not a straw.
The steep farm roof, With tiles duskily glowing, entertained The mid-day sun; and up and down the roof White pigeons nestled.
There was no sound but one.
Three cart horses were looking over a gate Drowsily through their forelocks, swishing their tails Against a fly, a solitary fly.
The winter's cheek flushed as if he had drained Spring, summer, and autumn at a draught And smiled quietly.
But 'twas not winter-- Rather a season of bliss unchangeable, Awakened from farm and church where it had lain Safe under tile and latch for ages since This England, Old already, was called Merry.
Written by Edward Thomas | Create an image from this poem

The Cherry Trees

 The cherry trees bend over and are shedding,
On the old road where all that passed are dead,
Their petals, strewing the grass as for a wedding
This early May morn when there is none to wed.
Written by Edward Thomas | Create an image from this poem

Aspens

 All day and night, save winter, every weather,
Above the inn, the smithy and the shop, 
The aspens at the cross-roads talk together
Of rain, until their last leaves fall from the top.
Out of the blacksmith's cavern comes the ringing Of hammer, shoe and anvil; out of the inn The clink, the hum, the roar, the random singing - The sounds that for these fifty years have been.
The whisper of the aspens is not drowned, And over lightless pane and footless road, Empty as sky, with every other sound No ceasing, calls their ghosts from their abode, A silent smithy, a silent inn, nor fails In the bare moonlight or the thick-furred gloom, In the tempest or the night of nightingales, To turn the cross-roads to a ghostly room.
And it would be the same were no house near.
Over all sorts of weather, men, and times, Aspens must shake their leaves and men may hear But need not listen, more than to my rhymes.
Whatever wind blows, while they and I have leaves We cannot other than an aspen be That ceaselessly, unreasonably grieves, Or so men think who like a different tree.
Written by Edward Thomas | Create an image from this poem

The New House

 NOW first, as I shut the door, 
I was alone 
In the new house; and the wind 
Began to moan.
Old at once was the house, And I was old; My ears were teased with the dread Of what was foretold, Nights of storm, days of mist, without end; Sad days when the sun Shone in vain: old griefs and griefs Not yest begun.
All was foretold me; naught Could I foresee; But I learnt how the wind would sound After these things should be


Written by Edward Thomas | Create an image from this poem

Thaw

 OVER the land half freckled with snow half-thawed 
The speculating rooks at their nests cawed, 
And saw from elm-tops, delicate as a flower of grass, 
What we below could not see, Winter pass.
Written by Edward Thomas | Create an image from this poem

A Cat

 She had a name among the children;
But no one loved though someone owned
Her, locked her out of doors at bedtime
And had her kittens duly drowned.
In Spring, nevertheless, this cat Ate blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales, And birds of bright voice and plume and flight, As well as scraps from neighbours’ pails.
I loathed and hated her for this; One speckle on a thrush’s breast Was worth a million such; and yet She lived long, till God gave her rest.
Written by Edward Thomas | Create an image from this poem

The Sign-Post

 The dim sea glints chill.
The white sun is shy, And the skeleton weeds and the never-dry, Rough, long grasses keep white with frost At the hill-top by the finger-post; The smoke of the traveller's-joy is puffed Over hawthorn berry and hazel tuft.
I read the sign.
Which way shall I go? A voice says: "You would not have doubted so At twenty.
" Another voice gentle with scorn Says: "At twenty you wished you had never been born.
" One hazel lost a leaf of gold From a tuft at the tip, when the first voice told The other he wished to know what 'twould be To be sixty by this same post.
"You shall see," He laughed -and I had to join his laughter - "You shall see; but either before or after, Whatever happens, it must befall.
A mouthful of earth to remedy all Regrets and wishes shall be freely given; And if there be a flaw in that heaven 'Twill be freedom to wish, and your wish may be To be here or anywhere talking to me, No matter what the weather, on earth, At any age between death and birth, - To see what day or night can be, The sun and the frost, tha land and the sea, Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring, - With a poor man of any sort, down to a king, Standing upright out in the air Wondering where he shall journey, O where?"
Written by Edward Thomas | Create an image from this poem

Sowing

 IT was a perfect day 
For sowing; just 
As sweet and dry was the ground 
As tobacco-dust.
I tasted deep the hour Between the far Owl's chuckling first soft cry And the first star.
A long stretched hour it was; Nothing undone Remained; the early seeds All safely sown.
And now, hark at the rain, Windless and light, Half a kiss, half a tear, Saying good-night.
Written by Edward Thomas | Create an image from this poem

The Lane

 Some day, I think, there will be people enough
In Froxfield to pick all the blackberries
Out of the hedges of Green Lane, the straight
Broad lane where now September hides herself
In bracken and blackberry, harebell and dwarf gorse.
To-day, where yesterday a hundred sheep Were nibbling, halcyon bells shake to the sway Of waters that no vessel ever sailed .
.
.
It is a kind of spring: the chaffinch tries His song.
For heat it is like summer too.
This might be winter's quiet.
While the glint Of hollies dark in the swollen hedges lasts - One mile - and those bells ring, little I know Or heed if time be still the same, until The lane ends and once more all is the same.
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