Page:Some soldier poets.djvu/81

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Edward Thomas had wandered over literature and England, and shaped a mind that, at first opinionated, had saddened and mellowed. In the end he became a poet and a soldier almost at the same time, and now is dead. His success in prose had always been middling, breeding further discontent; do his poems[1] greatly succeed? Every time I read them I like them better. Lob, his longest effort, was the first I saw; it was perfectly dissociated from him by the assumed name of "Eastaway" and appeared to me full of promise though unwieldy; but in this collected volume his quality does not strike me as like a young man's, but wily, artful and aware of many traps.

"Rise up, rise up,
And, as the trumpet blowing
Chases the dreams of men,
As the dawn glowing
The stars that left unlit
The land and water,
Rise up and scatter
The dew that covers
The print of last night's lovers—
Scatter it, scatter it!


While you are listening
To the clear horn,
Forget, men, everything
On this earth newborn,
Except that it is lovelier
Than any mysteries.
Open your eyes to the air
That has washed the eyes of the stars
Through all the dewy night:
Up with the light,
To the old wars;
Arise, arise!"

  1. Poems by Edward Thomas. Selwyn & Blount. 3s. 6d. Quotations by permission of Mrs. Edward Thomas.
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