Poeticous Logo
es
English Español Français Italiano
R. S. Thomas

R. S. Thomas

The Dance

She is young. Have I the right
Even to name her? Child,
It is not love I offer
Your quick limbs, your eyes;
Only the barren homage
Of an old man whom time
Crucifies. Take my hand
A moment in the dance,
Ignoring its sly pressure,
The dry rut of age,
And lead me under the boughs
Of innocence. Let me smell
My youth again in your hair.

#Welsh #Dance

1
2
¿Disfrutate esta lectura? ¡invítanos a un café!.
Tu ayuda nos permite existir.
Preferido o celebrado por...
Otras obras de R. S. Thomas...
The Village

Scarcely a street, too few houses To merit the title; just a way bet… The one tavern and the one shop That leads nowhere and fails at th… Of the short hill, eaten away
The Untamed

My garden is the wild Sea of the grass. Her garden Shelters between walls. The tide could break in; I should be sorry for this.
The Cat and the Sea

It is a matter of a black cat On a bare cliff top in March Whose eyes anticipate The gorse petals; The formal equation of
To a Young Poet

For the first twenty years you are… Bodily that is: as a poet, of cour… You are not born yet. It’s the ne… You cut your teeth on to emerge sm… For your brash courtship of the mu…
Wooded Path in Autumn, by H. A. Brendekilde
A Day in Autumn

It will not always be like this, The air windless, a few last Leaves adding their decoration To the trees’ shoulders, braiding… Of the boughs with gold; a bird pr…
 1
Song at the Year’s Turning

Shelley dreamed it. Now the dream… The props crumble; the familiar wa… Are stale with tears trodden under… The heart’s flower withers at the… Bury it then, in history’s sterile…
 1
Kneeling

Moments of great calm, Kneeling before an altar Of wood in a stone church In summer, waiting for the God To speak; the air a staircase
A Blackbird Singing

It seems wrong that out of this bi… Black, bold, a suggestion of dark Places about it, there yet should… Such rich music, as though the not… Ore were changed to a rare metal
The Return

Coming home was to that: The white house in the cool grass Membraned with shadow, the bright… Of stream that was its looking—gla… And smoke growing above the roof
The Small Window

In Wales there are jewels To gather, but with the eye Only. A hill lights up Suddenly; a field trembles With colour and goes out
 1
 1
A Welshman to any Tourist

We’ve nothing vast to offer you, n… Except the waste of thought Forming from mind erosion; No canyons where the pterodactyl’s… Falls like a shadow.
Children's Song

We live in our own world, A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees, The adult subterfuge.
On the Farm

There was Dai Puw. He was no goo… They put him in the fields to dock… And took the knife from him, when… At late evening with a grin Like the slash of a knife on his f…
The Hill Farmer Speaks

I am the farmer, stripped of love And thought and grace by the land’… But what I am saying over the fie… Desolate acres, rough with dew, Is, Listen, listen, I am a man li…
Thirteen Blackbirds Look at a Man

It is calm. It is as though we lived in a garden that had not yet arrived at the knowledge of



Arriba