Poems to read:<\/p>\n
As the Team’s Head Brass\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \/\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The Sun Used to Shine\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \/\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 In Memoriam\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \/\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 This is No Case of Petty Right or Wrong\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \/\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Bright Clouds\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \/\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Digging\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \/\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A Private<\/p>\n
‘His powers of observation, with an ear attuned to conversational vitality, seemed to lead him directly to interpret reactions to the wider issues of war and patriotism.’ Edward Thomas: A Portrait, by R. George Thomas, p.252<\/p>\n
See ‘Now All Roads Lead to France, by Matthew Hollis, p. 221.<\/p>\n
‘Edward’s first poem in 1916 is the complete expression of his feelings about the war. For love of the dust of his country he cried “God save England!” in 1915, as in 1415 he might have cried it at Agincourt. His hate-feelings were reserved for the Jingo Press and those who used its jargon in argument’. ‘Edward Thomas, the Last Four Years’, by Eleanor Farjeon, p.180<\/p>\n
‘He stopped, and picked up a pinch of earth. “Literally, for this.” He crumbled it between finger and thumb, and let it fall.’ Eleanor Farjeon, p. 154.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
To what extent can Edward Thomas be considered as a war poet? Poems to read: As the Team’s Head Brass\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \/\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The Sun Used to Shine\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \/\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 In Memoriam\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \/\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 This is No Case of Petty Right or Wrong\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \/\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Bright Clouds\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \/\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Digging\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \/\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A Private As the Team’s Head Brass ‘His powers of Continue Reading »<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0},"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\t\n