October
The green elm with the one great bough of gold Lets leaves into the grass slip, one by one, — The short hill grass, the mushrooms small milk-white, Harebell and scabious and tormentil, That blackberry and gorse, in dew and sun, Bow down to; and the wind travels too light To shake the fallen birch leaves from the fern; The gossamers wander at their own will. At heavier steps than birds' the squirrels scold.
The rich scene has grown fresh again and new As Spring and to the touch is not more cool Than it is warm to the gaze; and now I might As happy be as earth is beautiful,
Were I some other or with earth could turn In alternation of violet and rose,
Harebell and snowdrop, at their season due,
And gorse that has no time not to be gay.
But if this be not happiness, — who knows?
Some day I shall think this a happy day,
And this mood by the name of melancholy Shall no more blackened and obscured be.
Edward Thomas
Other author posts
Digging 2
To-day I Only with scents, - scents dead leaves yield, And bracken, and wild carrot's seed, And the square mustard field;
Bobs Lane
Women he liked, did shovel-bearded Bob, Old Farmer Hayward of the Heath, but Loved horses He himself was like a
Celandine
Thinking of her had saddened me at first, Until I saw the sun on the celandines Redoubled, and she stood up like a flame, A living thing, not what before I nursed,
The Glory
The glory of the beauty of the morning, -The cuckoo crying over the untouched dew; The blackbird that has found it, and the That tempts me on to something sweeter than love; White clouds ranged even and fair as new-mown hay;