EDWARD THOMAS 1878-1917

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THE OWL

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved, 

Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof 

Against the north wind; tired, yet so that rest 

Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest, 

Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I. 

All of the night was quite barred out except 

An owl's cry, a most melancholy cry.

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill 

No merry note, nor cause of merriment, 

But one telling me plain what I escaped 

And others could not, that night, as in I went.

And salted was my food, and my repose, 

Salted and sobered too, by the bird's voice 

Speaking for all who lay under the stars, 

Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice. 

British poet, essayist and novelist, Edward Thomas enlisted in the British Army to fight in the First World War and was killed in action in 1917 soon after he arrived in France.

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