posted on 2024-04-25, 17:29authored byFirst World War Poetry Digital Archive Project Team
This ploughman dead in battle slept out of doors Many a frozen night, and merrily Answered staid drinkers, good bedmen, and all bores: 'At Mrs. Greenland's Hawthorn Bush', said he, 'I slept.' None knew which bush. Above the town, Beyond 'The Drover', a hundred spot the down In Wiltshire. And where now at last he sleeps More sound in France---that, too, he secret keeps.
History
Identifier
2862.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.