The New Year See all items with this value

He was the one man I met up in the wood
That stormy New Year's morning; and at first sight,
Fifty yards off, I could not tell how much
Of the strange tripod was a man. His body
Bowed horizontal, was supported equally
By legs at one end, by a rage at the other:
Thus he rested, far less like a man than
His wheel-barrow in profile was like a pig.
But when I saw it was an old man bent,
At the same moment came into my mind
The games at which boys bend thus, High-cocolorum,
Or Fly-the-garter, and leap-frog. At the sound
Of footsteps he began to straighten himself;
His head rolled under his cape like a tortoise's;
He took an unlit pipe out of his mouth
Politely ere I wished him 'A Happy New Year',
And with his head cast upward sideways muttered---
So far as I could hear through the trees' roar---
'Happy New Year, and may it come fastish, too,'
While I strode by and he turned to raking leaves.

2926.txt

Thomas, Edward (1878-1917) See all items with this value

1979

1979-01-01

1979-12-31

Poem

The First World War Poetry Digital Archive

2926.txt