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The Force that Through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower
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User Rating:
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7.8
/10
(33 votes)
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The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.
Dylan Thomas
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Friday, January 03, 2003 |
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Read poems about / on: weather, green, water, wind, flower, spring, rose, red, heaven, time, tree, star
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Comments about this poem (The Force that Through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower
by
Dylan Thomas
) |
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Will Vogel (2/2/2012 12:56:00 PM)
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yo i aint get nuttin from dis ish
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Sylva Portoian (2/28/2010 11:36:00 PM)
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'The root of my trees is my destroyer',
Oh what a stanza to analyze genetically
He blames his bad genes destroying me,
As, he enjoyed drinking heavily.
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Sylva Portoian (2/28/2010 11:36:00 PM)
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'The root of my trees is my destroyer',
Oh what a stanza to analyze genetically
He blames his bad genes destroying me,
As, he enjoyed drinking heavily.
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Thomas Egnoto (12/27/2008 7:59:00 AM)
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It's about time, and how its grip is inescapable. Very depressing.
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Derek Baron (8/28/2007 11:48:00 AM)
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I disagree Barry: You're half-right. The One-Ness of all things, but man isn't impotent to witness it. He IS it. He's impotent to COMMUNICATE it. He's witnessing it so strongly though that its nearly blinding. True: one of the greatest poems at least of the 20th century. Thomas is right up there with Pound and Eliot in my eyes.
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Barry Cohan (7/26/2007 11:03:00 PM)
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I think that it's about a kind of condundrum: the one-ness of all things, and man as impotent witness to it all. This might be-as foolish as it sounds to say- the finest poem ever written in the English language.
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Akonam Aladi (9/23/2006 5:29:00 PM)
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what is this poem about?
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Read all
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