If you come
Haste and come.
Owls have cried,
It grows dark
To ride.
Beloved, beautiful, come!

(Edward Thomas (1878-1917), British poet. Will You Come? (L. 25-30). . . Green Place, A; Modern Poems. William Jay Smith, comp. (1982) Delacorte Press/Seymour Lawrence.)

And salted was my food, and my repose,
Salted and sobered, too, by the bird's voice
Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.

(Edward Thomas (1878-1917), British poet. The Owl (l. 13-16). . . Oxford Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. Frank Kermode and John Hollander, general eds. (1973) Oxford University Press (Also published as six paperback vols.: Medieval English Literature, J. B. Trapp, ed.; The Literature of Renaissance England, John Hollander and Frank Kermode, eds.; The Restoration and the Eighteenth Century, Martin Price, ed.; Romantic Poetry and Prose, Harold Bloom and Lionel Trilling, eds.; Victorian Prose and Poetry, Lionel Trilling and Harold Bloom, eds.; Modern British Literature, Frank Kermode and John Hollander, eds.).)

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

(Edward Thomas (1878-1917), British poet. The New House (l. 9-12). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.)

There is not any book
Or face of dearest look
That I would not turn from now
To go into the unknown
I must enter, and leave, alone,
I know not how.

(Edward Thomas (1878-1917), British poet. Lights Out (l. 19-24). . . Oxford Book of Death, The. D. J. Enright, ed. (1987) Oxford University Press.)

How weak and little is the light,
All the universe of sight,
Love and delight,
Before the might,
If you love it not, of night.

(Edward Thomas (1878-1917), British poet. Out in the Dark (l. 16-20). . . Oxford Book of Welsh Verse in English, The. Gwyn Jones, comp. (1977) Oxford University Press.)

Whenever I am sufficiently rich:
Codham, Cockridden, and Childerditch,
Roses, Pyrgo, and Lapwater?
I shall give them all to my elder daughter.

(Edward Thomas (1878-1917), British poet. If I Should Ever by Chance (l. 11-14). . . Oxford Book of Modern Verse, The, 1892-1935. William Butler Yeats, ed. (1936) Oxford University Press.)

The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood
This Eastertide call into mind the men
Now far from home,

(Edward Thomas (1878-1917), British poet. In Memoriam (Easter, 1915) (l. 1-3). . . Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century English Verse, The. Philip Larkin, ed. (1973) Oxford University Press.)

I like the dust on the nettles, never lost
Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.

(Edward Thomas (1878-1917), British poet. Tall Nettles (l. 7-8). . . Oxford Book of Short Poems, The. P. J. Kavanagh and James Michie, eds. Oxford University Press.)

There was a weasel lived in the sun
With all his family,
Till a keeper shot him with his gun

(Edward Thomas (1878-1917), British poet. The Gallows (l. 1-3). . . Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry, The. Richard Ellmann and Robert O'Clair, eds. (2d ed., 1988) W. W. Norton & Company.)

Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed
The speculating rooks at their nests cawed

(Edward Thomas (1878-1917), British poet. Thaw (l. 1-2). . . Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century English Verse, The. Philip Larkin, ed. (1973) Oxford University Press.)