Edward Thomas

(3 March 1878 - 9 April 1917 / London / England)

Edward Thomas Poems

81. The Manor Farm 12/31/2002
82. The New House 12/31/2002
83. The Other 4/7/2010
84. The Owl 12/31/2002
85. The Path 12/31/2002
86. The Sign-Post 12/31/2002
87. The Sorrow of True Love  5/4/2015
88. The Trumpet 12/31/2002
89. The Word 12/31/2002
90. This Is No Case Of Petty Right Or Wrong 4/7/2010
91. To-Night 4/7/2010
92. Two Pewits 4/7/2010
93. Unknown 1/3/2003
94. When First I Came Here 12/31/2002
95. Words 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Edward Thomas

Rain

Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying to-night or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead,
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all ...

Read the full of Rain

A Cat

She had a name among the children;
But no one loved though someone owned
Her, locked her out of doors at bedtime
And had her kittens duly drowned.

In Spring, nevertheless, this cat
Ate blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales,
And birds of bright voice and plume and flight,
As well as scraps from neighbours’ pails.

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