There are so many things I have forgot,
That once were much to me, or that were not,
All lost, as is a childless woman's child
And its child's children, in the undefiled
Abyss of what can never be again.
I have forgot, too, names of the mighty men
That fought and lost or won in the old wars,
Of kings and fiends and gods, and most of the stars.
Some things I have forgot that I forget.
But lesser things there are, remembered yet,
Than all the others. One name that I have not --
Though 'tis an empty thingless name -- forgot
Never can die because Spring after Spring
Some thrushes learn to say it as they sing.
There is always one at midday saying it clear
And tart -- the name, only the name I hear.
While perhaps I am thinking of the elder scent
That is like food, or while I am content
With the wild rose scent that is like memory,
This name suddenly is cried out to me
From somewhere in the bushes by a bird
Over and over again, a pure thrush word.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Word by Edward Thomas )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ -56, Ronjoy Brahma
- A Balancing Bow? (Advaita), Monk E. Biz
- Small Share Fleeced Investors Go Belly Up, Terence G. Craddock
- I am in the sea, gajanan mishra
- Goddess of England, Joseph Narusiewicz
- Half-Salary Jesuit Masters, Richard Thripp
- गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ -55, Ronjoy Brahma
- Son of Truth, gajanan mishra
- False redemption, hasmukh amathalal
- गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ -54, Ronjoy Brahma