Old Thought - Poem by Ivor Gurney
Autumn that name of creeper falling and tea-time loving,
Was once for me the thought of High Cotswold noon-air,
And the earth smell, turning brambles, and half-cirrus moving,
Mixed with the love of body and travel of good turf there.
O up in height, O snatcht up O swiftly going,
Common to beechwood, breathing was loving, the yet
Unknown Crickley cliffs trumpeted, set music on glowing
In my mind. White Cotswold, wine scarlet woods and leaf wreckage wet.
Comments about Old Thought by Ivor Gurney
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You