Henry Treece

(22 December 1911 – 10 June 1966 / Wednesbury, Staffordshire)

Henry Treece Poems

1. The Old Ones 4/28/2012
2. Relics 4/28/2012
3. Tears Are Two Small 4/28/2012
4. The Barriers 4/28/2012
5. Love Poem 4/28/2012
6. Love Song 4/28/2012
7. Martyr 4/28/2012
8. Sympathy With Stone 4/28/2012
9. Dumb Love 4/28/2012
10. Revenente 4/28/2012
11. Ages 4/28/2012
12. Poem - Ii 4/21/2010
13. The Waiting Watchers 4/21/2010
14. Poem - I 4/21/2010
15. The Haunted Garden 4/21/2010
16. Poem - Iii 4/21/2010
17. Lincolnshire Bomber Station 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Henry Treece

Lincolnshire Bomber Station

Across the road the homesick Romans made
The ground-mist thickens to a milky shroud;
Through flat, damp fields call sheep, mourning their dead
In cracked and timeless voices, unutterably sad,
Suffering for all the world, in Lincolnshire.

And I wonder how the Romans liked it here;
Flat fields, no sun, the muddy misty dawn,
And always, above all, the mad rain dripping down,
Rusting sword and helmet, wetting the feet
And soaking to the bone, down to the very heart . . .

Read the full of Lincolnshire Bomber Station

Poem - Iii

Through the dark aisles of the wood
Where the pine-needles deaden all sound
And the dove flutters in the black boughs

Through twilit vaults of the forest
Where fungus stifles the roots
And the squirrel escapes with a cone

Through the dim alleys of pine

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