Who is Edward Thomas

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Edward Thomas Poems

  • The Sign-post
    The dim sea glints chill. The white sun is shy,
    And the skeleton weeds and the never-dry,
    Rough, long grasses keep white with frost
    At the hill-top by the finger-post; ...
  • The Barn
    They should never have built a barn there, at all -
    Drip, drip, drip! - under that elm tree,
    Though when it was young. Now it is old
    But good, not like the barn and me. ...
  • It Was Upon
    It was upon a July evening.
    At a stile I stood, looking along a path
    Over the country by a second Spring
    Drenched perfect green again. 'The lattermath ...
  • In Memoriam (easter, 1915)
    The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood
    This Eastertide call into mind the men,
    Now far from home, who, with their sweethearts, should
    Have gathered them and will do never again....
  • The Word
    There are so many things I have forgot,
    That once were much to me, or that were not,
    All lost, as is a childless woman's child
    And its child's children, in the undefiled ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Edward Thomas

Never 41 Night 26 Sun 26 Dark 23 I Love You 22 Love 22 Lost 21 Long 21 Earth 20 White 20


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Comments about Edward Thomas

  • Gregbruhl3: if only edward would suppose to be appeared on thomas and the magic railway
  • Libreture: gurdonark moved beautiful wales by edward thomas to read.
  • Tdawks: "since visiting last, the dawkins got two new kittens, called toffee and fudge. thomas did not want to call them these names, so he called them edward and pedward."
  • Younesikiri: what a throw by thomas edward patrick brady jr.
  • War_poets: 28 january 1917 edward thomas writes to eleanor farjeon ‘we start tomorrow morning. it seems certain we are for the somme, but how directly we don’t know yet of course. i have my hands full as i not only have to manage the mess and the cook but have to keep the accounts.’
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Poem of the day

Alfred Lord Tennyson Poem
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 96. You Say, But With No Touch Of Sco
 by Alfred Lord Tennyson

You say, but with no touch of scorn,
Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes
Are tender over drowning flies,
You tell me, doubt is Devil-born.
I know not: one indeed I knew
In many a subtle question versed,
Who touch'd a jarring lyre at first,
But ever strove to make it true:
...

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