By Dylan Thomas
178 pp, darkish blue textile hardback, gold lettering on backbone
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Extra info for Collected Poems (1934-1952)
Were that enough, enough to ease the pain, Feeling regret when this is wasted That made me happy in the sun, How much was happy while it lasted, Were vagueness enough and the sweet lies plenty, The hollow words could bear all suffering And cure me of ills. Were that enough, bone, blood, and sinew, The twisted brain, the fair-formed loin, Groping for matter under the dog’s plate, Man should be cured of distemper. For all there is to give I offer: Crumbs, barn, and halter. Hold hard, these ancient minutes in the cuckoo’s month Hold hard, these ancient minutes in the cuckoo’s month, Under the lank, fourth folly on Glamorgan’s hill, As the green blooms ride upward, to the drive of time; Time, in a folly’s rider, like a county man Over the vault of ridings with his hound at heel, Drives forth my men, my children, from the hanging south.
The force that drives the water through the rocks Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams Turns mine to wax. And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks. The hand that whirls the water in the pool Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind Hauls my shroud sail. And I am dumb to tell the hanging man How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime. The lips of time leech to the fountain head; Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood Shall calm her sores.
The year-hedged row is lame with flint, Blunt scythe and water blade. ’ Time kills me terribly. ’ I saw time murder me. Altarwise by owl-light I Altarwise by owl-light in the half-way house The gentleman lay graveward with his furies; Abaddon in the hangnail cracked from Adam, And, from his fork, a dog among the fairies, The atlas-eater with a jaw for news, Bit out the mandrake with to-morrow’s scream. Then, penny-eyed, that gentlemen of wounds, Old cock from nowheres and the heaven’s egg, With bones unbuttoned to the half-way winds, Hatched from the windy salvage on one leg, Scraped at my cradle in a walking word That night of time under the Christward shelter: I am the long world’s gentleman, he said, And share my bed with Capricorn and Cancer.