Sunday, August 25

sunday simplicity: in the deep heart

Nought I could give today
Would half compare
With the long-treasured riches that somewhere
In the deep heart are stored–

Cloud and the moon and mist and the whole hoard
Of frail, blue-bubbling stars,
And the cool blessing,
Like moth or wind caressing,
Of the fair, fresh rain-dipped flowers;
And all the spells of the sea, and the new green
Of moss and fern and bracken
Before their youth is stricken;
The thought of the trees at eventide, the hush
In the dark corn at morning,
And the wish
In your own heart still but dawning–

All of these,

A soft weight on your hands,
I would give now;
And lastly myself made clean
And white as the wave-washed sand,
If I knew how.

- R S Thomas

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