EDWARD THOMAS, his poem, Rain

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 poet of the First World War

All of Edward Thomas's war poetry was written in England whilst he was in training to go to France. We therefore see in his poetry the impact of the First World War on his mind rather than his response to the experiences of battle. Rain is deeply melancholic.

Edward Thomas


Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying tonight or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead,
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
Like me who have no love which this wild rain
Has not dissolved except the love of death,
If love it be for what is perfect and
Cannot, the tempest tells me, 

7 January, 1916

Note   The hut referred to in line two is an army hut.