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Poem by Edward Thomas


Bright Clouds


BRIGHT clouds of may
Shade half the pond.
Beyond,
All but one bay
Of emerald
Tall reeds
Like criss-cross bayonets
Where a bird once called,
Lies bright as the sun.
No one heeds.
The light wind frets
And drifts the scum
Of may-blossom.
Till the moorhen calls
Again
Naught's to be done
By birds or men.
Still the may falls.



Edward Thomas


Edward Thomas's other poems:
  1. When We Two Walked
  2. Some Eyes Condemn
  3. The Trumpet
  4. What Shall I Give?
  5. Women He Liked


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