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Poem by Edward Thomas


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 Francethat, too, he secret keeps.



Edward Thomas


Edward Thomas's other poems:
  1. Women He Liked
  2. When We Two Walked
  3. Tears
  4. Bright Clouds
  5. Some Eyes Condemn


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