posted on 2024-04-25, 17:29authored byFirst World War Poetry Digital Archive Project Team
After you speak And what you meant Is plain, My eyes Meet yours that mean, With your cheeks and hair, Something more wise, More dark, And far different. Even so the lark Loves dust And nestles in it The minute Before he must Soar in lone flight So far, Like a black star He seems--- A mote Of singing dust Afloat Above, That dreams And sheds no light. I know your lust Is love.
History
Identifier
2853.txt
Creator
Thomas, Edward (1878-1917)
Date
1979
Date Created
01/01/1979
Temporal Date
31/12/1979
Type
Poem
Rights
Copyright Edward Thomas, 1979, reproduced under licence from Faber and Faber Ltd.