Sep 27, 2026 · 1 hr 34 min · 28 segments
"Poems by Edward Thomas" is a collection that showcases the profound and evocative verse of Edward Thomas, a poet known for his deep connection to nature and the human experience. His work reflects…
The Trumpet Rise Up, Rise Up And as the trumpet blowing chases the dreams of men, as the dawn glowing the stars that left unlit the land and water, rise up and scatter the dew that covers the print of last night's lovers.
Scatter it.
Scatter it.
While you are listening to the clear horn, forget, men, everything on this earth newborn, except that it is lovelier than any mysteries.
Open your eyes to the air that has washed the eyes of the stars through all the dewy night.
Up with the light to the old wars.
Arise, arise.
The Signpost The dim sea glints chill, the white sun is shy, and the skeleton weeds and the never-dry, rough, long grasses keep white with frost at the hilltop by the finger-post.
The smoke of the traveller's joy is puffed over hawthorn berry and hazel tuft.
I read the sign.
Which way shall I go? A voice says, You would not have doubted so at twenty.
Another voice, gentle with scorn, says, At twenty you wished you had never been born.
One hazel lost a leaf of gold from a tuft at the tip.
When the first voice told the other he wished to know what would be to be sixty by this same post.
you shall see he laughed and i had to join his laughter you shall see but either before or after whatever happens it must befall a mouthful of earth to remedy all regrets and wishes shall freely be given And if there be a flaw in that heaven, it will be freedom to wish.
And your wish may be to be here or anywhere talking to me.
No matter what the weather, on earth, at any age, between death and birth, to see what day or night can be, the sun and the frost, the land and the sea, summer, autumn, winter, spring, with a poor man of any sort, down to a king, standing upright out in the air, wondering where he shall journey.
Oh, where? Tears.
It seems I have no tears left.
They should have fallen.
Their ghosts, if tears have ghosts, did fall.
That day when twenty hounds streamed by me, not yet combed out, but still all equals in their rage of gladness upon the scent, made one like a great dragon in blooming meadow that bends towards the sun and once bore hops.
and on that other day when i stepped out from the double-shadowed tower into an april morning stirring and sweet and warm strange solitude was there and silence a mightier charm than any in the tower possessed the courtyard They were changing guard, soldiers in line, young English countrymen, fair-haired and ruddy in white tunics.
Drums and fifes were playing, the British grenadiers.
The men, the music piercing that solitude and silence, told me truths I had not dreamed and have forgotten since their beauty passed.
The Trumpet Rise Up, Rise Up And as the trumpet blowing chases the dreams of men, as the dawn glowing the stars that left unlit the land and water, rise up and scatter the dew that covers the print of last night's lovers.
Scatter it.
Scatter it.
While you are listening to the clear horn, forget, men, everything on this earth newborn, except that it is lovelier than any mysteries.
Open your eyes to the air that has washed the eyes of the stars through all the dewy night.
Up with the light to the old wars.
Arise, arise.
The Signpost The dim sea glints chill, the white sun is shy, and the skeleton weeds and the never-dry, rough, long grasses keep white with frost at the hilltop by the finger-post.
The smoke of the traveller's joy is puffed over hawthorn berry and hazel tuft.
I read the sign.
Which way shall I go? A voice says, You would not have doubted so at twenty.
Another voice, gentle with scorn, says, At twenty you wished you had never been born.
One hazel lost a leaf of gold from a tuft at the tip.
When the first voice told the other he wished to know what would be to be sixty by this same post.
you shall see he laughed and i had to join his laughter you shall see but either before or after whatever happens it must befall a mouthful of earth to remedy all regrets and wishes shall freely be given And if there be a flaw in that heaven, it will be freedom to wish.
And your wish may be to be here or anywhere talking to me.
No matter what the weather, on earth, at any age, between death and birth, to see what day or night can be, the sun and the frost, the land and the sea, summer, autumn, winter, spring, with a poor man of any sort, down to a king, standing upright out in the air, wondering where he shall journey.
Oh, where? Tears.
It seems I have no tears left.
They should have fallen.
Their ghosts, if tears have ghosts, did fall.
That day when twenty hounds streamed by me, not yet combed out, but still all equals in their rage of gladness upon the scent, made one like a great dragon in blooming meadow that bends towards the sun and once bore hops.
and on that other day when i stepped out from the double-shadowed tower into an april morning stirring and sweet and warm strange solitude was there and silence a mightier charm than any in the tower possessed the courtyard They were changing guard, soldiers in line, young English countrymen, fair-haired and ruddy in white tunics.
Drums and fifes were playing, the British grenadiers.
The men, the music piercing that solitude and silence, told me truths I had not dreamed and have forgotten since their beauty passed.
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