“No one cares less than I, …
Edward Thomas
This ploughman dead in battle slept out of doors …
Yes. I remember Adlestrop— …
As the team’s head-brass flashed out on the turn …
All day and night, save winter, every weather, …
Out of the wood of thoughts that grows by night …
Gone, gone again, …
Aftear night’s thunder far away had rolled …
Fair was the morning, fair our tempers, and …
Often I had gone this way before: …
One hour: as dim he and his house now look …
I never saw that land before, …
The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood …
I have come to the borders of sleep, …
At hawthorn-time in Wiltshire travelling …
Old Man, or Lad's-love,—in the name there's nothing …
Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain …
I love roads: …
Seated once by a brook, watching a child …
The cherry trees bend over and are shedding …
Mother, the root of this little yellow flower …
The Combe was ever dark, ancient and dark. …
Some day, I think, there will be people enough …
The forest ended. Glad I was …
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved; …
The dim sea glints chill. The white sun is shy, …
The sorrow of true love is a great sorrow …
The sun used to shine while we two walked …
When Winter's ahead, …
Rise up, rise up, …
Three lovely notes he whistled, too soft to be heard …
This is no case of petty right or wrong …