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Live Stream: Beauty by Edward Thomas

Written by Rachael Norris, 25th June 2020

On Tuesdays and Thursdays at 1pm you can join us on Facebook live for your bi-weekly dose of literature read aloud. We'll be looking at poems and texts that inspire us, reading along together and offering the chance for people to share their thoughts and get involved in discussions. If you'd like your lunch time to involve some literature, sit back and enjoy.

Beauty by Edward Thomas

BeautyWhat does it mean? Tired, angry, and ill at ease, No man, woman, or child alive could please Me now. And yet I almost dare to laugh Because I sit and frame an epitaph- 'Here lies all that no one loved of him And that loved no one.' Then in a trice that whim Has wearied. But, though I am like a river At fall of evening when it seems that never Has the sun lighted it or warmed it, while Cross breezes cut the surface to a file, This heart, some fraction of me, hapily Floats through a window even now to a tree Down in the misting, dim-lit, quiet vale; Not like a pewit that returns to wail For something it has lost, but like a dove That slants unanswering to its home and love. There I find my rest, and through the dusk air Flies what yet lives in me. Beauty is there.Edward Thomas

Posted by The Reader on Thursday, June 25, 2020

 

Beauty

What does it mean? Tired, angry, and ill at ease,

No man, woman, or child alive could please

Me now. And yet I almost dare to laugh

Because I sit and frame an epitaph-

'Here lies all that no one loved of him

And that loved no one.' Then in a trice that whim

Has wearied. But, though I am like a river

At fall of evening when it seems that never

Has the sun lighted it or warmed it, while

Cross breezes cut the surface to a file,

This heart, some fraction of me, hapily

Floats through a window even now to a tree

Down in the misting, dim-lit, quiet vale;

Not like a pewit that returns to wail

For something it has lost, but like a dove

That slants unanswering to its home and love.

There I find my rest, and through the dusk air

Flies what yet lives in me. Beauty is there.

Edward Thomas

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