Saturday, April 21, 2012

Wake up call

One hopes never to see the day when, instead of splendour, the trumpeters  herald only something darker than the dark wood of night.


Cock Crow

Out of the wood of thoughts that grows by night
To be cut down by the sharp axe of light,—
Out of the night, two cocks together crow,
Cleaving the darkness with a silver blow:
And bright before my eyes twin trumpeters stand,
Heralds of splendour, one at either hand,
Each facing each as in a coat of arms:—
The milkers lace their boots up at the farms.

Edward Thomas