Edward Thomas

(3 March 1878 - 9 April 1917 / London / England)

Edward Thomas Poems

41. Fifty Faggots 4/7/2010
42. The Gypsy 4/7/2010
43. First Known When Lost 4/7/2010
44. Liberty 4/7/2010
45. The Brook 4/7/2010
46. Birds' Nests 4/7/2010
47. As The Clouds That Are So Light 4/7/2010
48. For These 4/7/2010
49. Over The Hills 4/7/2010
50. Ambition 4/7/2010
51. Gone, Gone Again 4/7/2010
52. Digging 4/7/2010
53. The Path 12/31/2002
54. Digging 2 4/7/2010
55. The Gallows 4/7/2010
56. The Sign-Post 12/31/2002
57. After You Speak 4/7/2010
58. The Trumpet 12/31/2002
59. The Long Small Room 12/31/2002
60. Early One Morning 4/7/2010
61. The Lane 1/3/2003
62. The Word 12/31/2002
63. The Manor Farm 12/31/2002
64. Unknown 1/3/2003
65. The New House 12/31/2002
66. In Memoriam 1/3/2003
67. A Private 12/31/2002
68. Sowing 12/31/2002
69. Bob's Lane 12/31/2002
70. If I Should Ever By Chance 12/31/2002
71. Cock-Crow 12/31/2002
72. After Rain 4/7/2010
73. When First I Came Here 12/31/2002
74. And You, Helen 4/7/2010
75. Snow 12/31/2002
76. October 12/31/2002
77. Old Man 3/23/2003
78. Lights Out 12/31/2002
79. No One So Much As You 3/16/2003
80. As The Team's Head- Brass 3/19/2003

Comments about Edward Thomas

  • jack whitfeld (4/27/2018 2:16:00 PM)

    lol i live in adlestrop

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  • Tony Walton (8/27/2012 2:23:00 PM)

    Edward Thomas is considered by many major poets, such as T.S.Eliot and Ted Hughes, to have a big influence on the development of English poetry in the 20th century. Hughes said: He is the father of us all.
    Thomas and Robert Frost were best friends. It was Frost who encouraged Thomas to turn to poetry at the age of 36, three years before his death.
    He is still not as widely known as Wilfred Owen, who was the other significant poet to be killed on the Western Front.
    Please read my poem 'Roads To France' written about him and in his memory.

  • Nawaz Hassan (1/16/2005 9:24:00 AM)

    i need the Comparison between 'Tall Nettles' and 'Thistles'

Best Poem of Edward Thomas

Rain

Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying to-night or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead,
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all ...

Read the full of Rain

A Cat

She had a name among the children;
But no one loved though someone owned
Her, locked her out of doors at bedtime
And had her kittens duly drowned.

In Spring, nevertheless, this cat
Ate blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales,
And birds of bright voice and plume and flight,
As well as scraps from neighbours’ pails.

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