The lost generation

Den brittiske poeten Edward Thomas (1878-1917) stupade vid Arras år 1917. Han var en av så många unga män som aldrig kom tillbaka hem igen.

I juni 1914 reste Thomas med sin familj för att hälsa på Robert Frost som hade hyrt en stuga i Gloucestershire. På vägen dit stannade tåget i den gamla idylliska byn Adlestrop (ett icke-planerat stopp). Thomas inspirerades av idyllen som han såg och så skrev han den här dikten.

Adlestrop

Yes. I remember Adlestrop
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat, the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire