Books by Edward Thomas

Quotes by Edward Thomas
I, too, often shrivel the grey shreds,
Sniff them and think and sniff again and try
Once more to think what it is I am remembering,
Always in vain. I cannot like the scent,
Yet I would rather give up others more sweet,
With no meaning, than this bitter one.
The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood
This Eastertide call into mind the men,
Now far from home, who, with their sweethearts, should
Have gathered them and will do never again.
I built myself a house of glass:
It took me years to make it:
And I was proud. But now, alas!
Would God someone would break it.
Yes. I remember [[w:Adlestrop|Adlestrop]] –
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.
If I should ever by chance grow rich
I'll buy Codham, Cockridden, and Childerditch,
Roses, Pyrgo, and Lapwater,
And let them all to my eldest daughter.
I like to think how easily Nature will absorb London as she absorbed the mastodon, setting her spiders to spin the winding-sheet and her worms to fill in the grave, and her grass to cover it pitifully up, adding flowers - as an unknown hand added them to the grave of [[Nero]].
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