INTERVAL by EDWARD THOMAS
Gone the wild day. A wilder night Coming makes way For brief twilight.
Where the firm soaked road Mounts beneath pines To the high beech wood It almost shines.
The beeches keep A stormy rest, Breathing deep Of wind from the west.
The wood is black, With a misty steam. Above it the rack Breaks for one gleam.
But the woodman's cot By the ivied trees Awakens not To light or breeze.
It smokes aloft Unwavering: It hunches soft Under storm's wing.
It has no care For gleam or gloom: It stays there While I shall roam,
Die, and forget The hill of trees, The gleam, the wet, This roaring peace.
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|Author||Thomas, Edward (1878-1917)|
|Copyright||Copyright Edward Thomas, 1979, reproduced under licence from Faber and Faber Ltd.|
|First line||Gone the wild day:|
|Publication source||Edward Thomas Collected Poems|
|Publication editor||Thomas, George|
|Publishers||Faber and Faber|
|Digital repository||The First World War Poetry Digital Archive|