English poem
INTERVAL
by Edward Thomas (1878–1917)
GONE the wild day: A wilder night Coming makes way For brief twilight.
Where the firm soaked road Mounts and is lost In the high beech-wood It shines almost.
The beeches keep A stormy rest, Breathing deep Of wind from the west.
The wood is black, With a misty steam. Above, the cloud pack Breaks for one gleam.
But the woodman's cot By the ivied trees Awakens not To light or breeze.
It smokes aloft Unwavering: It hunches soft Under storm's wing.
It has no care For gleam or gloom: It stays there While I shall roam,
Die, and forget The hill of trees, The gleam, the wet, This roaring peace.