Edward Thomas
The sun used to shine while we two walked
Slowly together, paused and started
Again, and sometimes mused, sometimes talked
As either pleased, and cheerfully parted
Each night. We never disagreed
Which gate to rest on. The to be
And the late past we gave small heed.
We turned from men or poetry
To rumours of the war remote
Only all both stood disinclined
For aught but the yellow flavorous coat
Of an apple wasps had undermined;
Or a sentry of dark betonies,
The stateliest of small flowers on earth,
At the forest verge; or crocuses
Pale purple as if they had their birth
In sunless Hades fields. The war
Came back to mind with the moonrise
Which soldiers in the east afar
Beheld then. Nevertheless, our eyes
Could as well imagine the Crusades
Or Caesar’s battles. Everything
To faintness like those rumours fades—
Like the brook’s water glittering
Under the moonlight—like those walks
Now—like us two that took them, and
The fallen apples, all the talks
And silences—like memory’s sand
When the tide covers it late or soon,
And other men through other flowers
In those fields under the same moon
Go talking and have easy hours.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem captures the fragile interplay between moments of quiet life and the distant echoes of war. It describes a time of simplicity and companionship that feels untouched by larger conflicts, yet subtly acknowledges how war hovers at the edges, ready to intrude. The poet weaves together memory, nature, and the inevitability of change to evoke a sense of both nostalgia and transience.
The opening sets the tone of ease and rhythm, with two people walking, pausing, and talking as they please. There’s a sense of timelessness in their actions, where small decisions, like choosing a gate to rest on, are the only choices that matter. This peaceful existence feels insulated, as if the war and the world beyond are mere whispers, unable to disrupt their shared moments.
Nature is central to the poem, with vivid details like the “yellow flavourous coat of an apple wasps had undermined” and the “sentry of dark betonies.” These images anchor the poem in the tangible, showing how the two find solace and fascination in the ordinary. Even the war, when it does come to mind, is distant—its gravity dulled to something as faint as the Crusades or Caesar’s battles. The natural world acts as a buffer, allowing the speaker and their companion to stay grounded in the present.
As the poem progresses, the distance between the immediate and the remote begins to blur. The imagery of the moonrise connects the two worlds: soldiers far away see the same moon, yet their reality is far harsher. The moonlight on the brook’s water mirrors how memory distorts and fades, and the walks and conversations of the past begin to dissolve, just like the shimmering reflection or sand erased by the tide.
The final lines bring a gentle inevitability. Life continues, others will walk through the same fields under the same moon, and the moments shared by the speaker and their companion will become part of the landscape’s history, no more vivid than rumors of ancient battles. This universality of experience creates a quiet comfort—the realization that even the simplest of lives can leave a mark, however faint.
The poem stands out for its understated handling of profound themes. It doesn’t dwell on grand emotions or elaborate metaphors. Instead, it presents a small, intimate world, and in doing so, highlights how war and time subtly reshape even the most ordinary joys.