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Edward Thomas

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

Celandine


Thinking of her had saddened me at first,
Until I saw the sun on the celandines lie
Redoubled, and she stood up like a flame,
A living thing, not what before I nursed,
The shadow I was growing to love almost,
The phantom, not the creature with bright eye
That I had thought never to see, once lost.

She found the celandines of February
Always before us all. Her nature and name
Were like those flowers, and now immediately
For a short swift eternity back she came,
Beautiful, happy, simply as when she wore
Her brightest bloom among the winter hues
Of all the world; and I was happy too,
Seeing the blossoms and the maiden who
Had seen them with me Februarys before,
Bending to them as in and out she trod
And laughed, with locks sweeping the mossy sod.

But this was a dream; the flowers were not true,
Until I stooped to pluck from the grass there
One of five petals and I smelt the juice
Which made me sigh, remembering she was no more,
Gone like a never perfectly recalled air.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

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  • Rookie Jose Gallego (3/7/2006 1:23:00 PM)

    This poem is pretty special for me, he looks happy with the 'brightest bloom' though, at last, he discovers 'the flowers were not true'; like to other poem (birds) he looks very lonely, but not he has many lovers; the rain, the kettles, the flowers relieve his troubles.

    Why all of us are not so happy, all of us can have the same lovers, reading his poetry. (Report) Reply

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