Sunday WW1 Remembered...

Lights Out 

by 

Philip Edward Thomas

1878 -1917

I have come to the borders of sleep, 

The unfathomable deep

Forest where all must lose

Their way, however straight, 

Or winding, soon or late;

They cannot choose. 

Many a road and track

That, since the dawn’s first crack,

Up to the forest brink, 

Deceived the travellers,

Suddenly now blurs,

And in they sink. 

Here love ends,

Despair, ambition ends;

All pleasure and all trouble,

Although most sweet or bitter, 

Here ends in sleep that is sweeter 

Than tasks most noble. 

There is not any book 

Or face of dearest look

That I would not turn from now 

To go into the unknown

I must enter, and leave, alone, 

I know not how. 

The tall forest towers; 

Its cloudy foliage lowers 

Ahead, shelf above shelf; 

Its silence I hear and obey 

That I may lose my way 

And myself.

Edward Thomas was a British essayist, novelist and poet and was born in London to Welsh parents.  He is considered to be a war poet although most of his poetry was written before the war when he was already an established writer. 

He enlisted into the Artists Rifles in 1915 and was killed during the Battle of Arras

 on the 9 April 1917.