Henry Treece

(22 December 1911 – 10 June 1966 / Wednesbury, Staffordshire)

Henry Treece Poems

1. The Old Ones 4/28/2012
2. Relics 4/28/2012
3. Tears Are Two Small 4/28/2012
4. The Barriers 4/28/2012
5. Love Poem 4/28/2012
6. Love Song 4/28/2012
7. Martyr 4/28/2012
8. Sympathy With Stone 4/28/2012
9. Dumb Love 4/28/2012
10. Revenente 4/28/2012
11. Ages 4/28/2012
12. The Waiting Watchers 4/21/2010
13. Poem - Ii 4/21/2010
14. The Haunted Garden 4/21/2010
15. Poem - I 4/21/2010
16. Poem - Iii 4/21/2010
17. Lincolnshire Bomber Station 1/1/2004

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Best Poem of Henry Treece

Lincolnshire Bomber Station

Across the road the homesick Romans made
The ground-mist thickens to a milky shroud;
Through flat, damp fields call sheep, mourning their dead
In cracked and timeless voices, unutterably sad,
Suffering for all the world, in Lincolnshire.

And I wonder how the Romans liked it here;
Flat fields, no sun, the muddy misty dawn,
And always, above all, the mad rain dripping down,
Rusting sword and helmet, wetting the feet
And soaking to the bone, down to the very heart . . .

Read the full of Lincolnshire Bomber Station

The Haunted Garden

In this sad place
Memory hangs on the air
Fragile as Spring snail's tiny shell,
Coming to the sympathetic ear
Gentle as bud's green pulsing in the sun,
Suave as sin in a black velvet glove;

The old faces gaze
Wistfully as birds, among the nodding leaves,

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