Poem by Edward Thomas

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. 

1. The Cuckoo
2. For These
3. In Memoriam (Easter, 1915)
4. The Other
5. The Long Small Room

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