The Manor Farm
THE MANOR FARM by EDWARD THOMAS
The rock-like mud unfroze a little and rills
Ran and sparkled down each side of the road
Under the catkins wagging in the hedge.
But earth would have her sleep out, spite of the sun;
Nor did I value that thin gilding beam
More than a pretty February thing
Till I came down to the old Manor Farm,
And church and yew-tree opposite, in age
Its equals and in size. Small church, great yew,
And farmhouse slept in a Sunday silentness.
The air raised not a straw. The steep farm roof,
With tiles duskily glowing, entertained
The midday sun; and up and down the roof
White pigeons nestled. There was no sound but one.
Three cart-horses were looking over a gate
Drowsily through their forelocks, swishing their tails
Against a fly, a solitary fly.
The Winter's cheek flushed as if he had drained
Spring, Summer, and Autumn at a draught
And smiled quietly. But 'twas not Winter---
Rather a season of bliss unchangeable
Awakened from farm and church where it had lain
Safe under tile and thatch for ages since
This England, Old already, was called Merry.
Title |
The Manor Farm
|
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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 |
The rock-like mud unfroze a little and rills
|
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
“The Manor Farm,” 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 May 19, 2024, http://ww1lit.nsms.ox.ac.uk/ww1lit/collections/item/2939.
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