Edward Thomas, killed 9 April 1917

[seaJane]

Rain / by Edward Thomas

 

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 solitude. 

Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon: 

But here I pray that none whom once I loved 

Is dying tonight 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 still and stiff, 

Like me who have no love which this wild rain 

Has not dissolved except the love of death, 

If love it be towards what is perfect and 

Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.

 

 

[Fattyowls]

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.

Not forgotten

Pete.

[seaJane]

[Moriaty]

I had the privilege to visit Edward Thomas' grave last year with the South Wales Western Front Association , it was around the time of the centenary of his death, and I read his poem "Roads" at the graveside.  We noted that the Edward Thomas Society had visited on the actual day of the centenary. 

 

In South London Edward Thomas is remembered as he was born on 3 March 1878 in 10 Upper Lansdowne Road North (now 14 Lansdowne Gardens, Stockwell – where he is remembered with a blue plaque)

 

Moriaty