A supremely beautiful poem. The best thing is to hear Dylan Thomas himself reading it.
It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.
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2 comments:
Many, many thanks for posting this!
How does it end? Will my heart's song be heard on this high hill, in a year's turning?
Oh I do love that poem.
Warren
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