A poem

Autumn has definately arrived. The days are colder and shorter, it is time to get the sweaters and shawls out of the closets. 

It is also a time for reading, and a little poetry. Recently I bought this book: A nature poem for every day of the year (published in 2018). 

For today I found this poem by Edward Thomas (1878-1917):


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.


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