in memory of Edward Thomas
If walking down a country laneYou stop to look at gathering clouds
And feel your life a prison-house,
Then think of sky Open as pastures steeped in dew,
Mountains brightening
After thunder passes through,
A feather wavering in the light; Or think of one
Who made a midnight requiem
From the rainfall Of falling men,
As he lay unsleeping in mud
Warmer than some.