Edward Thomas (Эдвард Томас)

A Private

This ploughman dead in battle slept out of doors
Many a frosty night, and merrily
Answered staid drinkers, good bedmen, and all bores:
'At Mrs Greenland's Hawthorn Bush,' said he,
'I slept.' None knew which bush. Above the town,
Beyond 'The Drover', a hundred spot the down
In Wiltshire. And where now at last he sleeps
More sound in France—that, too, he secret keeps.

1. Women He Liked
2. When We Two Walked
3. Bright Clouds
4. Swedes
5. What Shall I Give?

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1379

Последние стихотворения

To English version