Page:Poems (Edward Thomas, 1917).djvu/60

 To swing and have endless leisure

In the sun and in the snow,

Without pain, without pleasure,

On the dead oak tree bough.

BIRDS' NESTS

RAIN

, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain

On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me

Remembering again that I shall die

And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks 54