Digging

Item

Description

To-day I think
Only with scents,---scents dead leaves yield,
And bracken, and wild carrot's seed,
And the square mustard field;
Odours that rise
When the spade wounds the root of tree,
Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed,
Rhubarb or celery;
The smoke's smell, too,
Flowing from where a bonfire burns
The dead, the waste, the dangerous,
And all to sweetness turns.
It is enough
To smell, to crumble the dark earth,
While the robin sings over again
Sad songs of Autumn mirth.

Identifier

2973.txt

Creator

Thomas, Edward (1878-1917)

Date

1979

Date Created

1979-01-01

Temporal Coverage

1979-12-31

Type

Poem

Publisher

The First World War Poetry Digital Archive

Other Media