Robert Frost (1874–1963) and Edward Thomas (1878–1917) are the Pound and Eliot of regular verse, twentieth-century poets who, by tearing off the fustian and listening to how people actually speak, showed how “making it new” need have nothing to do with modernism. And while Frost is much the better known, few rival Thomas as a poets’ poet—the many who have paid tribute to his work include W. H. Auden, Philip Larkin, Ted Hughes, Seamus Heaney, and Derek Walcott.

The story of the Frost–Thomas friendship has its biographical attractions too. When they first met in October 1913, Thomas was thirty-five, Frost thirty-nine. Their lives looked like examples of failed promise. Since coming to England the previous year, Frost had finally published his first book of verse, but it had caused little stir. Thomas might have been an established name on the London literary scene, but his talent as a prose writer had been spread over far too many commissioned books and articles. By August 1914, though, things were looking up. Thomas’s reviews of Frost’s North of Boston (three of them, no less) were appearing in the U.K.press that month and doing much to establish Frost’s reputation both in Britain and America. Frost had been showing Thomas how some of his prose might be recast into verse. Meanwhile, the Frost and Thomas families were living three meadows apart from one another in rural Gloucestershire. The weather was good, the cost of living low. The two men could spend