Edward Thomas

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

Edward Thomas Poems

81. Tall Nettles 12/31/2002
82. The Glory 3/19/2003
83. Thaw 12/31/2002
84. Aspens 1/3/2003
85. The Dark Forest 1/3/2003
86. Celandine 12/31/2002
87. But These Things Also 4/7/2010
88. A Cat 1/3/2003
89. Beauty 12/31/2002
90. The Owl 12/31/2002
91. Words 1/3/2003
92. The Cherry Trees 12/31/2002
93. Like The Touch Of Rain 1/3/2003
94. Adlestrop 12/31/2002
95. Rain 12/31/2002

Comments about Edward Thomas

  • Charlotte Calendar (3/31/2020 5:58:00 AM)

    Can not see the poem rubbish website says my daughter

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

    lol i live in adlestrop

    1 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • 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.

    45 person liked.
    30 person did not like.
  • Nawaz Hassan (1/16/2005 9:24:00 AM)

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

    25 person liked.
    49 person did not like.
Best Poem of Edward Thomas

The Cherry Trees

The cherry trees bend over and are shedding,
On the old road where all that passed are dead,
Their petals, strewing the grass as for a wedding
This early May morn when there is none to wed.

Read the full of The Cherry Trees

Bob's Lane

Women he liked, did shovel-bearded Bob,
Old Farmer Hayward of the Heath, but he
Loved horses. He himself was like a cob
And leather-coloured. Also he loved a tree.

For the life in them he loved most living things,
But a tree chiefly. All along the lane
He planted elms where now the stormcock sings
That travellers hear from the slow-climbing train.

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