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Poem by Edward Thomas


Words


Out of us all
That make rhymes
Will you choose
Sometimes -
As the winds use
A crack in a wall
Or a drain,
Their joy or their pain
To whistle through -
Choose me,
You English words?

I know you:
You are light as dreams,
Tough as oak,
Precious as gold,
As poppies and corn,
Or an old cloak:
Sweet as our birds
To the ear,
As the burnet rose
In the heat
Of Midsummer:
Strange as the races
Of dead and unborn:
Strange and sweet
Equally,
And familiar,
To the eye,
As the dearest faces
That a man knows,
And as lost homes are:
But though older far
Than oldest yew, -
As our hills are, old, -
Worn new
Again and again:
Young as our streams
After rain:
And as dear
As the earth which you prove
That we love.

Make me content
With some sweetness
From Wales
Whose nightingales
Have no wings, -
From Wiltshire and Kent
And Herefordshire, -
And the villages there, -
From the names, and the things
No less.
Let me sometimes dance
With you,
Or climb
Or stand perchance
In ecstasy,
Fixed and free
In a rhyme,
As poets do. 



Edward Thomas


Edward Thomas's other poems:
  1. The Cuckoo
  2. For These
  3. In Memoriam (Easter, 1915)
  4. The Other
  5. The Long Small Room


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • William Yeats Words ("I HAD this thought a while ago")
  • Sylvia Plath Words ("Axes after whose stroke the wood rings")
  • Ella Wilcox Words ("Words are great forces in the realm of life")

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