Tuesday, 12 September 2017

EDWARD THOMAS’S THE NEW HOUSE



Now first, as I shut the door,
I was alone
I n the new house; and the wind
Began to moan

Old at once was the house,
And I was old;
My ears were teased with the dread
Of what was foretold,

Nights of storm, days of mist, without end;
Sad days when the sun
Shone in vain: old grief’s and grief’s
Not yet begun.

All was foretold me; naught
Could I fore see;
But I learned how the wind would sound
After these things should be

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