| I have come to the borders of sleep, |
| The unfathomable deep |
| Forest where all must lose |
| Their way, however straight, |
| Or winding, soon or late ; |
They cannot choose.
|
| Many a road and track |
| That, since the dawn’s first crack, |
| Up to the forest brink, |
| Deceived the travellers, |
| Suddenly now blurs, |
And in they sink.
|
| Here love ends, |
| Despair, ambition ends ; |
| All pleasure and all trouble, |
| Although most sweet or bitter, |
| Here ends in sleep that is sweeter |
Than tasks most noble.
|
| There is not any book |
| Or face of dearest look |
| That I would not turn from now |
| To go into the unknown |
| I must enter, and leave, alone, |
I know not how.
|
| The tall forest towers ; |
| Its cloudy foliage lowers |
| Ahead, shelf above shelf ; |
| Its silence I hear and obey |
| That I may lose my way |
And myself.
|
| Edward
Thomas |
Classic Poems |
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[ Adlestrop ] [ In Memoriam (Easter, 1915) ] [ Lights Out ] [ Out in the Dark ] [ The New House ] [ The Owl ] |
