Dylan Thomas Poems

On almost the incendiary eve
Of several near deaths,
When one at the great least of your best loved
And always known must leave
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Too proud to die; broken and blind he died
The darkest way, and did not turn away,
A cold kind man brave in his narrow pride
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A Letter To My Aunt Discussing The Correct Approach To Modern Poetry


To you, my aunt, who would explore
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A stranger has come
To share my room in the house not right in the head,
A girl mad as birds
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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
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In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
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When the morning was waking over the war
He put on his clothes and stepped out and he died,
The locks yawned loose and a blast blew them wide,
He dropped where he loved on the burst pavement stone
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Altarwise by owl-light in the half-way house
The gentleman lay graveward with his furies;
Abaddon in the hangnail cracked from Adam,
And, from his fork, a dog among the fairies,
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In the mustardseed sun,
By full tilt river and switchback sea
Where the cormorants scud,
In his house on stilts high among beaks
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Ears in the turrets hear
Hands grumble on the door,
Eyes in the gables see
The fingers at the locks.
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