An English Wood Poem by Robert Graves

An English Wood

Rating: 2.8


This valley wood is pledged
To the set shape of things,
And reasonably hedged:
Here are no harpies fledged,
No rocs may clap their wings,
Nor gryphons wave their stings.
Here, poised in quietude,
Calm elementals brood
On the set shape of things:
They fend away alarms
From this green wood.
Here nothing is that harms -
No bulls with lungs of brass,
No toothed or spiny grass,
No tree whose clutching arms
Drink blood when travellers pass,
No mount of glass;
No bardic tongues unfold
Satires or charms.
Only, the lawns are soft,
The tree-stems, grave and old;
Slow branches sway aloft,
The evening air comes cold,
The sunset scatters gold.
Small grasses toss and bend,
Small pathways idly tend
Towards no fearful end.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Peter Matthews 19 January 2012

Brilliant poem. Alan Bennett said, with a poem you can do more with less (words): this poem illustrates the point exactly.

1 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Robert Graves

Robert Graves

London / England
Close
Error Success