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.
Title |
Home [2]
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Author |
Thomas, Edward (1878-1917)
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Item date |
1979
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Content | |
Copyright |
Copyright Edward Thomas, 1979, reproduced under licence from Faber and Faber Ltd.
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Digital repository | |
Repository name |
ProQuest
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Repository address URL | |
First line |
Not the end: but there's nothing more.
|
Publication source |
Edward Thomas Collected Poems
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Publication editor |
Thomas, George
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Publishers |
Faber and Faber
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Publication place |
London
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Collection
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.
Permitted Use
This item is available for non-commercial educational use under the terms of the Jisc Model Licence. Further details available at: http://ww1lit.nsms.ox.ac.uk/ww1lit/permitteduse