First World War Poetry Digital Archive

Home [2]

HOME [1] by EDWARD THOMAS Not the end: but there's nothing more. Sweet Summer and Winter rude I have loved, and friendship and love, The crowd and solitude: But I know them: I weary not; But all that they mean I know. I would go back again home Now. Yet how should I go? This is my grief. That land, My home, I have never seen; No traveller tells of it, However far he has been. And could I discover it, I fear my happiness there, Or my pain, might be dreams of return Here, to these things that were. Remembering ills, though slight Yet irremediable, Brings a worse, an impurer pang Than remembering what was well. No: I cannot go back, And would not if I could. Until blindness come, I must wait And blink at what is not good.

Citation

“Home [2],” by Thomas, Edward (1878-1917). Copyright Edward Thomas, 1979, reproduced under licence from Faber and Faber Ltd. via First World War Poetry Digital Archive, accessed March 28, 2024, http://ww1lit.nsms.ox.ac.uk/ww1lit/collections/item/2919.

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