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The Force that Through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower
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9.2
/10
(20
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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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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comments about this poem (The Force that Through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower by
Dylan Thomas
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Thomas Egnoto
(12/27/2008 7:59:00 AM) |
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) |
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) |
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) |
what is this poem about?
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