1 min read
Слушать(AI)The Dark Forest
Dark is the forest and deep, and
Hang stars like seeds of
In vain, though not since they were sown was
Anything more bright.
And evermore mighty multitudes
About, nor enter in;
Of the other multitudes that dwell
Never yet was one seen.
The forest foxglove is purple, the
Outside is gold and white,
Nor can those that pluck either blossom
The others, day or night.
Edward Thomas
Philip Edward Thomas (3 March 1878 – 9 April 1917) was a British poet, essayist, and novelist. He is considered a war poet, although few of his
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
In Memoriam
The flowers left thick at nightfall in the This Eastertide call into mind the men, Now far from home, who, with their sweethearts, Have gathered them and will do never again
Lob
At hawthorn-time in Wiltshire In search of something chance would never bring, An old man's face, by life and weather And coloured, - rough, brown, sweet as any nut,
Like the Touch of Rain
Like the touch of rain she On a man's flesh and hair and When the joy of walking Has taken him by surprise:
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 th...
